


Nothing Else Matters

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Cross-Generation Relationship, M/M, Public Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7470267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco, living a rather reclusive life, is perfectly content to have his world rotate around his son – and if he has any passions to speak of, those better remain private. But then his world collides against one perfectly gorgeous, possibly underage Hugo Weasley (a Weasley!!!), who just happens to embody every forbidden fantasy Draco’s ever had – and Draco’s cool simply melts into a puddle of uncontrollable feelings. Just his luck. Or maybe… it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Else Matters

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost – massive thanks to my patient and very multi-purpose beta [bleedingangel84](http://bleedingangel84.livejournal.com) who takes good care that people aren’t throwing rotten food at me at blatant abuse of English language. This was written for the wonderful [Philharmony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Philharmony) (who sadly doesn't hang around the fandom anymore) as a very belated happy birthday present, but once the wonderfully talented girl found out it was for her, she made something truly exceptional - [ an artwork of Hugo](http://phildivus.deviantart.com/art/Hugo-Weasley-and-his-Dragon-Tattoo-660906410) that looks like the stuff the dreams are made of (she certainly made my dreams come true)! Please give the lovely lady all the love she deserves! And thanks to all those who are going to tackle another one of my endless stories! :D

I can't believe what that insolent child of mine just said to me! The audacity of his demand… seriously. If Malfoys gawped, I would certainly be gawping at such a scandalous attitude!

If ever I had tried anything of the sort with my father… Merlin! I would have certainly secured myself a nice cosy overnight arrangement in the dungeons with nothing but an overly-curious spider and the bored ghost of some past resident for company! I never thought I'd say this, but right now I almost miss those days! Sadly, they’re gone for good, and this spoilt brat that calls himself my son unfortunately knows very well that I’d sooner split my wand into a stack of toothpicks than harm him.

_“I won’t come home for Easter holidays if Rose is not welcome to stay with me…”_

And we all know very well who Rose is. _A Weasley._ Rose is a Weasley! Ron Weasley’s daughter, to be precise and… oh, the horror. No proper pedigree! Well, at least half of it is _barely_ acceptable… And all those terrible freckles spilling down my unblemished, festively decorated Easter table. Unimaginable. How did my beautiful, smart son end up with such terrible taste in girls?!

He could have had anyone! Almost anyone else would do! According to Headmistress McGonagall, he’s one of the most popular boys at Hogwarts, regardless of the initial fears of his peers – possibly instilled by their prejudiced parents – that he was going to sow death and destruction wherever he went. No, not this particular Malfoy. Much to his grandfather’s disappointment, if I’m entirely honest. In fact, _this_ Malfoy is so laid back, friendly, and generous that it sometimes seems as if he’s deliberately trying to expunge the family name of the tarnish it received during that last unfortunate war. Not a smidge of the proverbial Malfoy pride – often mistaken for haughtiness – can be found in this son of mine. That is, unless he’s dealing with yours truly, the subject of many of his unsuitable demands. Then this hopeless child remembers his Malfoyian heritage and turns merciless and arrogant enough to put Grandfather Abraxas to shame – you know, the one who thought Merlin himself was barely good enough to clean his shoes…

I swear this child of mine reminds me of a kneazle sometimes! He looks harmless enough with his big silver eyes and sweet smile – but I _know_ there is a set of world’s sharpest and most merciless claws hiding underneath that polished exterior! He is driven, determined and smart. Academically, he’s just a tiny limp behind the aforementioned Rose, who inherited unfair preternatural brains from her – Muggle-born! – mother. If he keeps this up until he passes the NEWTs, he will be able to choose any profession he likes – assuming that he will choose to work at all and not just play Quidditch day in and day out. He’s certainly charming enough on a broom to have more squealing fans that the entire Quidditch league combined, and not only because of his unquestionable skill – he’s a Malfoy, of course he’s bloody handsome!

And now it’s all going to be wasted on Rose. Rose _Weasley_. Bookish, no-nonsense Rose, who wouldn’t recognise make-up if she fell in it face-first. Brutally smart, argumentative Rose who’s been driving my poor Scorpius round the twist for the better part of six years from her position as his best friend – until she showed up at the Hogwarts express last September, all endless legs, big sky-blue eyes, and long flaming hair, and my poor son was clubbed on the head by an instant recognition that he was, in fact, madly in love with her.

Months followed, torturous months, full of Scorpius’s letters home filled to the brim with a million and one descriptions of Rose’s brilliance and lamentations about someone called _“that idiot Scamander”_ whom the oft-mentioned goddess was foolishly dating. And then the Christmas holidays came and brought home an exhilarated, over-the-moon Scorpius, who had been informed moments before he boarded the train home that the Weasley-Scamander item was no longer in existence.

Did I tell you the boy was driven? Well, I meant _“obsessive"_ . When he wants something he really _wants_ something, as in _“now”_ and _“not taking no for an answer”_ and _“what do you mean ‘I can’t’?! Find a way!”_ . He’s always been this way, ever since he was a mere toddler. My wand kept on disappearing as soon as he could reach it until we just capitulated and bought him his own, a mock one. It didn’t matter to him one little bit. He _wanted_ a wand. He got one. At three years of age. Blasted child.

And now this half-grown child wanted Rose Weasley. The owl traffic between the Malfoy estate and the Weasley residence following the Weasley/Scamander break-up nearly called for emergency measures in mail regulations. The exhausted owls _–_ armies of them _–_ kept knocking each other out until Scorpius started getting his own mail back in all the confusion! In the end it was I, nerves frayed due to all the numerous owl droppings around the house, who told him to just invite the blasted miserable girl over, for Merlin’s sake! _The boy kissed my cheek._ He hasn’t kissed my cheek in… oh, I don’t know… years? But then he had done it, literally dancing away across the hall, and I had the whole expanse of an afternoon to feel smug and appreciated. Until I actually met Rose. Oh, my... well, yes. _That bad._

The worst combination of Weasley-Granger genes imaginable, honestly. Well, perhaps not _the_ worst – after all, the girl is… well, pretty enough, if you like a girl who’s tall, slender, freckled, and ginger. I’ve heard some of Scorpius’s mates refer to her as gorgeous. I wouldn’t go _quite_ that far. She is certainly… appealing, but that’s just the outside façade. On the inside, Rose Weasley is bloody miles too smart to be becoming for a girl, and she – most annoyingly! – doesn’t mind showing it. One could seriously polyjuice her to look like Hagrid, and I’d still recognise Granger’s daughter. She’s also got that horrendous, blinding Weasley smile that makes my poor Scorpius drop his spoon and just drool embarrassingly. Not to mention that those two have apparently grown so close, they literally complete each other’s sentences. I felt outshined in my own home! After a while of talking to her, I promptly decided that she should never visit again, or Scorpius might want to keep her. And I couldn’t have that. We’re the Malfoys, for Salazar’s sake, we can’t afford a Weasley bride! Or my father’s funeral, for that matter.

But now the blinded idiot who calls himself my son, head over heels in love for the first time, wants just that. He _wants_ Rose. Amen, as the Muggles say. I openly hinted over the fire-call that I would _prefer_ that it was just us during this holiday. I might have mentioned that I’d appreciate some alone time with my son after months of his absence, but unfortunately this child of mine seems to have eaten a book on Legilimency at some point, and – hopelessly tactless as he is – he immediately barked at me:

“Father, are you saying you don’t want me to bring Rose along? You wouldn’t be saying that, would you? Because she’s a Weasley and her father stole Harry Potter from you when you were 11? Father, really?!”

Oh, for bald and brainless trolls’ sakes… You see, my son has an intolerable habit of choosing and delivering his lines in such a way that they make the opposing party feel as if they must be slightly demented and certainly not very bright. It must be the influence of that arrogantly smart Weasley wench that has my lovely, sunshine-and-daisies son firing weaponry such as this at his beloved father! I tried explaining to him how preposterous such an idea was – nobody _stole_ Potter from me. That four-eyed idiot happily fell around Ron Weasley’s neck all by himself! But that willingly-deaf son of mine simply smiled into the flames like a famished kneazle ready to devour a nest of mice, and said in that spiky, sardonic voice he employs only for the worst of occasions:

“Let’s hear it then, Dad. Let’s hear what better explanation you’ve got.”

Oh, my… He only calls me “dad” when he’s working on my near demise...

“Well,” I say as calmly as I can, desperately holding on to my composure. “It has been rather lonely at home since your mother left, and I suppose you cannot blame an old man for wanting a few moments of unspoilt family harmony with his only son during the few short days of his stay at home. Is that such a preposterous demand?”

“Dad…” he says with laughter in his voice. “You’re not even forty, and as such, you’re hardly an old man. If you are lonely, it is by choice, not through unfortunate life circumstances. You could have gotten a job outside of home. You could have thrown a few parties now and then, attended some of those charity events you so generously sponsor. You could have gotten a lover, you know, one with _the right_ appendages, after Mother left.”

_Excuse me?!_

Right now… I am… _speechless_ . Gasping for breath even. How does he even…? How dare he?! Who else knows – well, not _knows_ , obviously, because it’s all false, but… _assumes_?!

“I assure you…” I start, but my voice is so shaky I don’t get very far.

“Dad,” he interrupts me, and his voice is suddenly incredibly gentle. “Father… I’m sorry. I was out of line. But Mother was shouting so loudly before she left that it was _impossible_ not to hear, and I thought you knew… that I know. You needn’t worry; no one else knows. I haven’t told a soul. Honestly, no one. Not even… you know, no one. And also… I’d like you to know that I’m perfectly all right with it. You’re my father, and I’ve lost none of my respect for you just because you like c… because your appreciation for female physique wasn’t very genuine. So, you like men. So what? You’re hardly the only one. Look at Rose’s family!”

Yes, well, there is _that_ … That very… situation proved to be the undoing of my marriage as well, as ridiculous as that sounds.

“So which one of them does it for you?”

Merlin the Merciful, is there no shame in this child?!

“I’m sure I don’t have a clue what you’re on about,” I say as haughtily as I can muster, though I must admit, I’m a bit of a wreck on the inside, and it doesn’t come across quite as powerfully as it was intended.

“Dad,” – Dad again! – “Mother caught you… indecent... over the wedding picture spread of Ron Weasley and Harry Potter in the _Prophet_. I simply want to know which one of them turns you on,” he says innocently. Clearly, the amount of fun this impossibly cheeky son of mine is having is too damn high! Murder me, please. I’ve fathered a monster.

“Surely that is none of your business,” I say as coldly and curtly as I can, because clearly my torment will not come to an end before this conversation does.

“Just curious, don’t be like that! _JesusMerlin_ , Dad, lighten up! So, can Rose come?”

He unexpectedly offers me a merciful way out of this conversational torture and, resentful or not, I’d be a fool not to take it.

“Well, I suppose if that means that you’ll grace us with your presence after all, your girlfriend may accompany you,” I try to mask my surrender with as much arrogance as I can muster.

“Excellent. You’re the best, Father! I knew you’d be willing to be reasonable! Until tomorrow, then?”

He couldn’t sound happier if I told him that I’d secured him a permanent Seeker position with the Falmouth Falcons. Oh, glory. Perhaps I can use the same robes for their wedding _and_ my father’s funeral. The atmosphere should have about the same level of jolliness. Something between an army of Dementors arriving and Dumbledore’s funeral, I reckon.

~

Oh, that must be them. No one makes the house-elves chatter as freely as my Scorpius arriving home. They positively adore him. Small wonder, since he used to host Friday tea parties for them – plastic cups and such, but real food. He doesn’t have to intimidate them into doing their best for him – they literally fight each other over who’s going to impress him most.

In spite of our initial… misunderstanding, I admit myself very much eager to see him. This is my son, after all, my only heir, and _of course_ I bloody missed him!

And here he is hugging me like there’s no tomorrow, as if he doesn’t have a single drop of Malfoy blood in his body. He was always like this, and I suppose it must be the Black heritage. Judging by the accounts of that legendary alleged criminal, Sirius Black, Mother’s cousin, who gave Dementors hell, they must have been a temperamental lot. I know I’m not _supposed_ to like it… and my father would certainly be _appalled_ at such an informality… but I have to admit… I sort of do. I still remember _feeling_ like I wanted to hug Mother like this when I was still a child, but there was never a right time or occasion, and I suspect it wouldn’t have gone down so well if my father was there to witness it. But I won’t stop my son from doing it. I won’t even reprimand him for it. Not that it would help anyway. He does as he pleases, this boy of mine. I can’t say I mind this once.

Over his shoulder, I can see Rose Weasley through the crack in the door, and she’s smiling. That fox! Of course she would be! But… oh, well, I have to admit, it looks kind of… sweet. She is certainly a… decent-looking young lady – you know, for a Weasley. Not that Scorpius couldn’t do better, no… Of course he could, I’m sure my father could think of a thousand better parties off the top of his head, but seeing how she makes Scorpius glow, I suppose… Minister Granger’s daughter will do.

“So, you are pleased to see me?” my scoundrel of a son says smugly, and I try _very hard_ not to show him how very much I am. I’m afraid a tiny smile escapes me nevertheless. Nobody’s perfect.

“I wouldn’t be much of a father if I lamented it, would I?” I say with as much dignity I can muster, but, of course, I cannot fool him. He knows perfectly well that if he didn’t show up, I’d have the house-elves kidnap him just to see him. I do love him so. I hope he knows. I’m afraid he knows just how much.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it… because there’s been a _tiny_ complication…” Scorpius says matter-of-factly – and it’s just a little too casual not to matter. My son always uses that tone with me when he doesn’t want me to _“throw a fit”_ as he so eloquently calls me being a tiny bit upset. Of course I’m instantly alert.

“What kind of a complication?” I wonder out loud. Have they done something mad together? Well, of course they would; she’s a Weasley, they don’t come in any other form than mad! Oh, evil Salazar’s green socks, they haven’t been married already or some such miserable rot?! She wouldn’t be moving in for good and ever, would she now?!

“Father… you’re panicking,” Scorpius says calmly and there’s a tiny bit of laughter in his voice. Why does that child have to read me like a book?! No one else does! And half of the time, he laughs at what he reads!

“I can tell,” he continues in the same tone. “You get all stiff, and I can see the thunderous thoughts rolling with the speed of light behind your frowning brow. It’s nothing, really. A _tiny_ complication, Father. It’s not like we eloped!”

Oh, Merlin have mercy, so it isn’t that! The rock the just rolled off my parental heart could probably squash Hogwarts like a matchbox. But then, what is it?!

“And that wouldn’t be a complication at all, perhaps just a welcome development,” he throws a glance at Rose standing behind him, and she rolls her eyes, Weasley-red in the face, but all smiles anyway. Thank goodness she’s Granger’s daughter as well. At least that woman is no-nonsense!

“No, you see, it’s Rose’s father.”

Oh. Like that’s a surprise! I imagine Ron Weasley is about as happy with the state of affairs as I am. He wouldn’t be out there to destroy my son’s happiness, though, would he?! Like I would let him! Get your wand ready, and call your Saviour backup, Weasley, you’re going to need it!

“What about Weasley?” I ask as coldly as I can muster and – look, the girl is halfway decent, but I really _don’t_ have to pretend I like her father!

“Well, Rose introduced me, like, properly, as her boyfriend and so – and while her mum and Mr. Potter – well, her stepdad now – took the news graciously enough, Mr. Weasley might have had a bit of a… panic attack.”

Well, he would, wouldn’t he?! All that temper and those fierce blue eyes… and those giant fists… well, yes… where was I?! Oh, yes, I hope he dropped dead of it.

“You see, Father, he’s a bit… protective of Rose here – ”

“Of my non-existent virtue,” Rose comments coolly – and I did not need to hear that! My poor pure fatherly ears! Talk about the Weasley lack of tact!

“Yes, well… that or, uhm… I believe he doesn’t _trust_ you. With her safety.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing! The war was over more than two decades ago, and not _once_ have I attempted to hurt Weasley and the happy hero lot in any way – and still that freckled wanker doesn’t trust me! That hurts, I’ll have you know. Or, it would, if I gave a damn. Right now I’m just furious with the ginger idiot for implying that I’m… _unsafe_ in front of my son. How dare he?!”

“I suppose, he’s a bit… how to put it?… stubborn – ”

“Pig-headed troll, Mum said,” Rose elaborates bluntly, none too calm herself.

“So, to protect her virtue…"

“Like that ship hasn’t sailed already…” Rose, horribly crude Weaslette that she is, murmurs.

“Rose!” my Scorpius comments, a pink tinge to his cheeks, because I’ve certainly raised my good, decent boy better than that! But the redheaded wench is completely unperturbed; she simply shrugs and pouts: “What?! Like you weren’t there…”

And she only has to flutter those long, auburn eyelashes, smile cheekily, blissfully, and bite her lip – aaaaand my always oh-so-cool son _swallows,_ and seems to have forgotten what he was about to say. That manipulative female Machiavelli! Honestly, I’m speechless!

“Anyway,” Scorpius picks up after an embarrassingly long drooling session, complete with a goofy grin. “In the interest of her safety in general, Rose’s father insisted that she bring along _a guard_ of sorts.”

Oh, Merlin, bless that redheaded moron with an ounce of brain! _A guard?!_  What sort of a guard?! For your information: unless that deluded fool managed to resurrect my mad Aunt Bella or persuade his newly-minted Saviour husband to take the job, there’s hardly anyone that can go against me!

But then I look at my son, and he seems to be barely holding back his laughter.

“In short,” Rose says dryly. “He put a tail on us. My brother, Hugo.”

And now _I_ feel like laughing out loud! Scorpius just turned 18, and Rose will soon follow. Hugo is supposed to be her _younger_ brother. And what, if you please, is a 16-or-so-year old going to do in the way of protection against _me_?! Weasley has finally gone off his trolley!

I’m about to do what I do best, and snort out loud, but then Rose turns around and opens the door fully.

“Come in, Hugh. Stop sulking, I know you had other plans. Nothing for it now, Dad’s just _mad_ that way. Oh, thank goodness, a smile at last! Come, now. I’m sure Mr. Malfoy would like to meet you.”

And then my dismissive laughter freezes in my throat. Everything freezes. Except my eyes. Those might have just popped out of my head.

Because the boy that steps forward through that door is no mere boy. He’s an _exceptionally_ _fine_ specimen of a young man… and he’s… oh, my… He seems to have just stepped out of my most private, most uncalled for, and most unstoppable fantasy… the one that usually turns into my filthiest, most debauched wanking session. _Oh.My.Sweet Merlin._ He’s a… mother-of-Jesus, how do I stop staring?... he’s a god. Merlin help me, Hugo Weasley is my own personal god.

~

He takes a step forward and I feel those crystal, Weasley-blue eyes on me. And I can’t bloody move. I swear, he’s hypnotised me with those deep blue ponds, like a serpent would its helpless prey, and I’m afraid my dignity right now depends solely on my Malfoyian stiffness. I notice everything that’s so very Weasley about him – fiery hair, his impossible height, endless legs, those broad shoulders and galaxies of freckles adorning his milky skin for contrast – but there’s also sharp intelligence in those mesmerising eyes that shows his mother’s heritage, and some sort of masterful self-confidence in the tall, striking posture that neither of his parents ever had. Then he offers me one of those slow, sexy lopsided smiles – and I think the boy might have successfully melted my knees… and what was left of my brain.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” he says calmly, and his voice is an even deeper rumble than Ron Weasley’s ever was. It reverberates inside of me, like a snake-charmer baiting the snake to rise, and I realise with a sinking heart just where all my blood has gone to… I guess there’s no point in pretending any longer that I don’t know what my son meant with _which one of them does it_ for me _._ As much as I’ve always despised Ron Weasley – his brutishness, his poverty, old-fashioned, mended clothes, lack of tact and his love for company that should be beneath him – just the way I was taught – the fact of the matter remains: that feisty ginger savage always turned me on _like a motherfucker_ . Sorry. I know these are no thoughts for a gentleman – but I could no more help myself back then than I can help myself now, in the presence of this… _divine_ Weasley. I guess obsession with redheads is a Malfoy family enterprise, much to my despair.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I never wanted to _be_ with Weasley; not the way Potter is now anyway… Well, perhaps just a little bit… long enough to fuck. God, I wanted to… yes. And I imagine it’s because I couldn’t even have that – and I knew I never could – that this crazy, impossible obsession never truly went away. I see Weasley and I… have a reaction. My body does, still, after all these years, almost like an involuntary response to some primal instinct that screams: _“Must. Try. This”._ Quite Neanderthal of me, I know, and very embarrassing, I assure you. But _this_ … this is _so_ much worse.

Because I’ve never, and I mean, _never_ in my 27 years of knowing Ron Weasley, felt quite so knocked out by him and so… _invaded_ as I do by his son. Somewhere at the back of my brain, I realise that the etiquette requires me to give him some answer, some meaningless welcoming courtesy… or perhaps even a snort – I bet _his_ expectations regarding my behaviour are not very high. But I do nothing, I say nothing. I can’t. I just stare. And admire. I literally can’t take my eyes off him. And he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s staring straight back at me, tilting his head gently to the side, shamelessly checking me out, and a barely perceptible smile crawls onto his lips, almost as if he was trying to say: “Keep looking. I _know_ what I do to you.” He’s knock-out gorgeous.

Finally, Scorpius comes to my rescue.

“Father, this is Hugo Weasley,” he says pointedly, obviously attempting to shake me out of my stupor. “This is the bit where you say hello, in case you’ve forgotten.”

And much to my horror, I realise that my son thinks I am not willing to welcome this ginger beauty into my home. Considering that we’re dealing with a Weasley, he would normally be spot on. But not this time. These are… special circumstances. Because from one moment to the next, it became completely _unfathomable_ that Hugo Weasley should leave… anytime soon… possibly, never. But what if the redhead is thinking the same – that I kept silent because of resentment?! I can’t have that!

And, as if on cue, that piece of ginger perfection looks at my son with a smile and says calmly:

“There’s no need for that, Scorp. If your father really doesn’t want me here, I’ll leave, of course. I’m sure I can make _my_ dad understand that he can’t impose…”

“No!”

That was us, the Malfoys, and if we had agreed upon our reaction beforehand, it couldn’t have been more synchronised. Our motivations, of course, are very different.

“Please, Hugo,” my son speaks hastily, “It’s just this one night, and then you can go back to your dad and tell him that Rose is… very well taken care of and in no danger.”

His eyes are so pleading that it almost makes my fatherly heart sorry for him – but Hugo doesn’t reply. Instead, his eyes are on me again, perusing me, quietly requiring an answer, and I feel that terrible pink tinge that is only reserved for the worst of arousal crawl to my cheeks . With Herculean effort, I finally manage to collect myself enough to reply – lest I might lose him! – and I surprise myself at how cool and composed my voice is:

“Of course you’re welcome; it’s absurd to think otherwise. Your sister is practically a part of this family already… ” – the surprised, blissful smile my child flashes almost reimburses me for all the terrible moments of embarrassment! – “… and if your father is in need of further assurances that your sister has been properly welcomed – then I believe you should stay and witness the way she’s being treated.”

What I’m actually saying underneath all that complex, polite rubbish, is of course:  ‘ _Don’t leave… don’t you dare leave, angel!’_ Some remote, disconnected Malfoyian part of me, shouting to be heard, is dead frightened he’s onto me, that he knows how very much he’s bewitched me. But there is no helping it: a strange, mad fever takes over my mind, and I can’t fight it. Right now, I don’t really care if he knows. I just want him to stay.

So I extend my arm… and I have an instant flashback to the 11-year-old me, offering my hand and my friendship to the famous Harry Potter, whom my father had ordered me to befriend – and getting rejected. The panic that sweeps through me is ridiculous. I thought I was over this ages ago, but it seems holding out my hand like this still makes me feel vulnerable in a way I never expected. If Hugo Weasley doesn’t take it…

The calloused and surprisingly strong fingers wrap around the palm of my hand, and he’s got those unbelievably giant Weasley hands that just engulf my flesh, ohhh… His touch is so warm, so incredibly soothing and charged at the same time, that I nearly lose it. It’s… _erotic_ , I have no other way of describing it. I’m helpless and hopelessly hard already when I lift my eyes to meet his – up, forever up because he’s just a bloody giant and… _oh-Merlin’s-sacred-balls_ – I do _so_ love them tall! And that face… that captivating face with those breathtaking blue pools, an expanse of starry freckles and a soft, sensual mouth is a death trap, I’ll have you know. I’m completely at his mercy.

He gives me a small, invincible smile, and without ever taking his eyes off my frozen, hypnotised face, he says quietly:

“Of course I’ll stay… if you want me to.”

That deep, rumbling voice seems to press a lever of madness inside me, because I blurt without hesitation:

“Of course I want you to. It’s only right.”

My voice is strangely gruff, as if some of my inner reverence rubbed off on it, and this time he does smile – fully, brilliantly, the way only Weasleys know how, the way it was never meant for me… not until this moment.

“If you say so…” he says softly, and lets go of my hand. He may as well have cut it off. It feels strangely empty and useless, out of place and annoyingly greedy for more warmth. Like it didn’t have a purpose until Hugo Weasley held it – and now it can no longer do without his touch.

“Bloody hell,” Rose whispers, and that sort of rouses me from my blissful haze. I look around me disorientated, and I notice Rose and Scorpius gaping at me.

“Indeed,” Scorpius agrees almost dreamily, and I have no bloody idea what these two silly kids are on about.

“What?!” I snap in annoyance.

“Nothing,” Scorpius says quickly, but then adds quietly: “You’re just… _glowing_ , Dad.”

I’m most certainly not doing any such thing! We, the Malfoys, are always dashing! If there’s any radiance in me, it’s purely a standard-issue Malfoy trait!

But Rose, that treacherous Weasley/Granger by-product, is very busy nodding her head off, whispering something like _“Lovely!”_ , and – am I really? Oh, that blasted boy! I can’t even look at him; it’s all his doing!

And, as if on cue, he speaks in that sexy, sultry voice he has – and knocks my world sideways just like that:

“You’re very attractive, Mr. Malfoy.”

Wha -??? Who says that?! Apparently, the Weasley brat does. He would. They’re all… _abnormal_. Only this one is also so abnormally gorgeous, and I think that deep, melodic voice successfully melted what little wits I was left with. Even my usual haughtiness has left me, and I’m just standing there in front of them, dumbfounded, speechless… and with a very unfortunate hard-on. Merlin, now what?

“I’m not…”

“Oh, Hugo would know,” Rose interrupts me calmly, and adds rather matter-of-factly: “He’s a model. He knows all there is to know about good looks.”

Of course he is. _Of course he bloody well is!_  I can’t imagine anyone blind enough not to notice this symphony of male perfection!

“Shut up, Rose!” the redhead mumbles, and his downcast eyes tell me he’s embarrassed… and completely adorable. “I’m sure Mr. Malfoy doesn’t care to hear about my moonlighting. It’s not like it’s a serious job, is it? It’s only on holidays for a bit of cash on the side… and only for Teddy.”

Teddy?! Oh, he has to be joking! He can’t mean _that_ Teddy, can he?!

But Rose confirms my terrible suspicions.

“Teddy Lupin, your cousin once removed, Mr. Malfoy, the famous photographer, would _murder_ to have Hugo go professional; he said so himself! He called him his muse, and Hugo was – oh, blast… I don’t know if I can say that…”

“You’re the mysterious model in his pictures,” I whisper. Two very successful exhibitions of black-and-white magical photographs, a superb play of light and shadow featuring a series of male nudes, delicately artistic and incredibly erotic, had catapulted the aspiring photographer Ted Lupin to instant overnight fame. And they also caused an unprecedented stir in the artistic community, because the beauty in his photographs was also faceless – always carefully positioned in such a way that his face was just out of the frame – and quite nameless.

There were a million rumours circulating regarding those particular displays of breathtaking photographs, the price of which went through the roof within hours of the exhibition opening. One says that Lupin was offered an absurd amount of money to disclose the name of the model, another that his model’s face was disfigured and would only ruin the beautiful composition. There’s even a bizarre one that it’s not even a living person in his photographs, but just some carefully orchestrated magic… I have yet to hear one that his model is the underage son of two war heroes. But the blush on Hugo’s astonishing face leaves no room for doubt. That certainly explains a lot…

“What if I am?” he says quietly. “They’re not bad pictures…”

Not bad… _not bad_ ?! I’ve seen the display, reluctantly the first time, upon the urging of my mother, and only because Teddy was family – and I admit I bribed my way into a private preview of the second one. I remember holding my breath all the way to the exhibition, wondering if Teddy used the same model, feverishly hoping that he did – and nearly melting to the floor when I saw _him_ again. I’d recognise that divine naked body anywhere. There were no colours in the photos, but the gentle spray of freckles across the endless expanse of virgin skin allowed me to fantasise that he was a redhead. My favourite. I went home that day as if in a haze, and I couldn’t get the achingly beautiful compositions out of my head for days afterwards. Of course, no one could have expected how fast the artistic photos would sell before the first showing – but I didn’t expect that the second series would all be sold out before it was even made.

I couldn’t get one, no matter how hard I tried. They sold for tens of thousands of galleons each, and because they were considered as high class as photography goes, there were none left on the market. I was quite annoyed, I admit, and perhaps even a little bit crushed. That is, right up until my birthday, when my mother – of all people! – showed up with a present that took my breath away: under a classy, minimalist wrapping, there was a single photograph, clearly from the same series – still no face on display – only I’d never seen that one before. It was in colour. It _was_ a redhead after all. A glorious one. That picture broke my heart… and robbed me of my mental functions for a considerable amount of time as well.

I showered my mother with hundreds of questions about it, but she didn’t know much. She said she got it directly off Teddy after she noticed my fascination. He wouldn’t sell it, but after a bit of persuasion, he gave it away as a present under one condition: it should never be publicly displayed. It seems as if only one such photograph was ever made, as the model in it believed it revealed too much of his identity when the colours were present. I had to agree when I stared, smitten, at the majestic, hissing red dragon across his back that had not yet been filtered away. Anyone seeing that would have recognised him.

I hung it in my bedroom and threw a charm over it so it looked like a plain picture of the manor. But I uncovered it every night before I went to sleep and I admired it. I slept under that picture. I wanked a hundred times to it. The man in that picture was my most private fantasy, my desperate dream. And that dream just floated out of my imagination and landed in front of me, more heartbreakingly beautiful than I could ever imagine. My body recognised Hugo Weasley before I did.

“Those photographs are… exceptional,” I tell him because I can’t lie, not when he’s looking at me with those bluest of blue eyes, as if awaiting my judgement… And my heart flutters in my chest painfully, like a caged bird knocking against the confines of its prison, when he offers me the most beautiful, brilliant smile I’ve ever seen on a living being. It seems to shine from the very depths of those mesmerising eyes, lighting up the entire room, and I end up wishing with all my heart that I could stop the time and capture this moment.

“Do you really think so?” he asks, tilting his head sideways the way he does every time he tries to read me. “You don’t think they’re… cheap?”

Merlin, boy…

“Why would you think that?” I cannot even begin to imagine what’s going on behind those sapphire eyes that made him say that. “How could anyone consider those cheap?! Have you go any idea what they go for?! They’re practically priceless!”

“I just thought… because Teddy made me take my clothes off,” he says quietly, his eyes once again on the floor. “At first I didn’t want to, but then he said he’d just make a few test ones – he promised not to take them anywhere without my permission – and I thought they were good, so I agreed… But you know, it’s still nudity, and some cannot see any art in that.”

Well, it makes perfect sense that a Weasley wouldn’t recognise art if he was sitting in it.

“We’re all born nude,” I tell him firmly because he still seems upset. “Just because people don’t flaunt it, it doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate it. Art is also about revealing the truth – and a naked body has nothing to hide. The success of that showing should tell you how many people recognised the true worth of those pictures and saw the beauty in them. Even I…”

Oh, blast… I nearly told him I own one! Oh, Salazar’s frilly shorts, I should really consider hexing my stupid, bewitched mouth shut before I embarrass myself beyond repair!

“People can’t wait for the new series,” I tell him instead. “They’re all the rage out there. Ted isn’t putting anything else out, so people assume he has to be busy with _something_. The art community is all abuzz wondering when are his new works going to be revealed!”

“Oh, it should be in a month or two,” Hugo explains casually. “I can only work during holidays, and I did the first photo session last summer and the last one at Christmas. Bloody cold lying in that snow - don’t even remind me! - but Teddy wanted an authentic background. It takes him about a month or two to set up the exhibition after the taking the pictures… and I’m having one tomorrow. Want to come?”

 _JesusMerlin!_ – as my son says… He froze me to my spot again, just as he had done by stepping through that door, and by every other sentence he said since. He’s asking me to be present at his photo session, just like that, innocently, not knowing... Oh, my fucking god… I’m… I don’t know what to say! Somehow _“that’s my only ambition in life”_ doesn’t sound right – but anything else is an understatement. I know I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t even want it! What normal, sane man of my age would want to watch a 16-year-old boy take his clothes off?! Only, this boy is the stuff dreams are made of, and I can’t… I cannot pass up on his offer. Besides, he might be offended if I said no, right?

“I…”

“Father is a great lover of art,” Scorpius interrupts me calmly. “I’m sure he’d love to come.”

“Yes!” I gasp in relief because it was my wonderful son who said it, and now I’m free to pretend I’m only repeating his words. “I’d love to come.”

“Splendid!” Hugo says, and when his face lightens up once more, my heart does that half-ecstatic, half-painful fluttery thing again. But then a very real concern strikes, and it nearly ruins my enthusiasm:

“But what if Ted won’t allow it?” I choke out miserably, realising how very likely that is with an eccentric artist like my cousin.

“Then I won’t do it,” Hugo says simply. “He owes me big. I do everything he says, always. There were some photos made that… they’re not for public display,” he says, blushing again, and with a flash of the fantasies my over-active libido sends fluttering through my head, there’s only so much I can do not to come in my pants. “But I’ve done everything he asked me to do, and I won’t have him deny me this one thing. Or he can find himself another model. Given that you’re a great lover of art, according to your son, I’d say you might even prove useful. Help him decide what works. Tell me how you want me...”

I think I might have mewled helplessly, just a little bit… oh, god, I hope it was only mentally and it didn’t come out… _How I want him_ … oh, that blasted boy… How I want him, indeed! _In every way and any way I can have you, you gorgeous redheaded demon,_ my fried brain pleads for mercy. Oh, my sweet innocent god, I’m so undone I can barely form a conscious thought through the rush of blood in my ears. Merlin, help me… This boy just might be a secret weapon the Weasleys invented to get rid of me!

“How you want to see me…” he corrects himself fairly quickly, with that adorable blush still making his eyes bright and – oh, he’s entirely edible, isn’t he?! I’m doomed!

“I see…” I somehow manage. “I’m not officially a connoisseur, but I suppose I do attend such events rather frequently, and I do have some… experience, if not professional knowledge. I imagine we at least have that argument in our favour, don’t we?”

“Sure,” he nods confidently. “I’ll send Teddy an owl and see how much effort I still need to put into persuading him. I suspect it won’t be much,” he shrugs and gives me another minor heart attack with one of those brilliant smiles he throws around all too generously for my taste. “He always says he can’t deny me anything. Putty in my hands, I believe he called it.”

And upon these words, another horrible thought enters my mind: How come Hugo is so confident he can persuade him?! It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Lupin seems to be the most promiscuous bastard ever?! He’d been engaged to Victoire Weasley, Hugo’s cousin, for the better part of forever, but then they suddenly broke off the engagement… and then he was seen sowing all his wild oats rather publicly for a while – until he was last spotted holding hands with none other than Potter’s son James, _another_ of Hugo’s cousins. Salazar the Jealous, he wouldn’t be working his way through the Weasley-Potter clan, would he?! This particular Weasley is taken!! Well… not _taken_ , not _actually_ taken, no, but… perhaps a bit… _reserved_ ? Oh, Lupin, better not even _think_ it! I don’t care how good a photographer he is, I’ll bloody use a _Reducto_ on his fingers if he lays but one on this… this gorgeous, terrible Weasley that’s reduced me to a right unrecognisable mess!

Oh, but this Malfoyian sense of ownership is a terrible thing! This poor, innocent boy just entered my house, with no other guilt to his name but his heart-stopping beauty, and I’m already contemplating breaking fingers and whatnot to have him all to myself! Like that would even be feasible! He’s – what? – 17 at most, drop-dead gorgeous, son of two war heroes, with a bright future in front of him – why would he even give the time of day to a disgraced Death Eater, a solitary aging pervert who likes them young, with fire in their hair and under their skin?! But I want… I still want… oh, so badly… Oh, Merlin the Wise, how to get rid of this impossible obsession?!

“Right,” my son speaks tactfully, and with much mortification, I notice that I’ve been staring into Hugo’s face in quiet reverence all this time, haunted by my inner voice, perfectly happy to indulge myself with what little I could have.

“Now we better figure out the sleeping arrangement,” Scorpius proposes carefully – and, blast, with a house as big as our residence, this really shouldn’t be a problem! Only, it is. Because nearly all of us, save Hugo, want something they cannot have. I know very well what I’m desperate for, but there’s no way in hell I can ever have a taste of it.

“I suppose you won’t agree to Rose and I sharing a bedroom?” Scorpius inquires practically, without bothering to be tactful. Oh, for heaven’s sake, sometimes I wonder if this child is really related to me! That’s the kind of savagery you get when you associate too closely with the Weasleys!

“Most certainly not,” I tell him with my superior authority as a parent and master of this house. “I am willing to agree that you may move out of your room during your holiday to be closer to our guests should they require anything. But in the end, I think it’s in the best interest of us all that Hugo here goes back to his father with a favourable report regarding your sense of propriety.”

“Bugger,” says Rose gloomily, and Scorpius sighs and throws me a look of darkest doom before he takes her hand to comfort her. Did I tell you that he sometimes reminds me of my father, eerily so? He gets that annoyed, stormy look in his eyes, and… well, call me an immature idiot, but I get a bit nervous when he looks at me like that. As if I’m not living up to his expectations. This parenting thing is horrible; it positively turns one quite mad!

“You can have the Emerald Sea guest room,” I tell him calmly. “And Rose can have the Purple Sunset one.”

And no one who doesn’t live here with us would be able to explain a sudden grateful smile that flashes across my son’s face. You see, those two rooms are actually adjacent with a door between them connecting one to the other, which can’t be seen from the hallway. So, I cheated. So what? My house, my rules. And if I cannot have someone to stay warm with, at least I shan’t rob my son of that because some stupid, overprotective father insists on clinging to his misconception of his daughter’s virtue. Fuck Ron Weasley. Though, to be honest, I’d much rather fuck his son. Oh, I did _not_ just think that!

But Hugo is looking at me once more with those Heaven-blue orbs… and my breath is hitching beyond my control. Oh, Merlin, this is horrible… ecstatically so. I cannot take my eyes of that full, soft mouth that I can think a thousand uses for, and when his tongue unexpectedly flicks out to moisten his bottom lip and his white teeth bite it gently, I swallow. Perhaps he’s just playing with me, or my overactive imagination is, but I suddenly become aware of a pulse of powerful magical between us, and the pull of it appears to be quite mutual… Now, tell me, how can I think of anything else but fucking him raw and stupid, and into the wall?! I can’t. Not really.

“So, where am I to go?” he asks with that rich, resonating voice of his, and I nearly have to bite my deluded tongue not to reply: _“With me. Where else… but with me?”_

I actually manage _not_ to say that, thank fuck for small wonders, but the misery of it is that I don’t really have an answer for him: I just want him too much for myself. Merlin, I can’t even think of anywhere else to put him! And I think my son, my beautiful, bright son, must have noticed my unfortunate befuddlement, because he quickly comes to my rescue.

“There’s another set of guest rooms just across the hallway from our rooms. You should be near us if you’re to report to your dad of our sleeping arrangement truthfully – he didn’t seem beyond making you drink Veritaserum, for all I could tell – that is one temperamental man!”

“Just shorten that to ‘mental’ and you’re right on the money,” Rose murmurs dryly – and, look, I know I’m possibly contradicting myself, but… oh, blast, I’m starting to like that girl! Rose Weasley has a wicked sense of humour, and I think my son could have actually done worse with his choice of a girlfriend. There, I’ve said it.

“I suppose it’s for the best,” Hugo nods, and Scorpius claps his hands merrily.

“That’s settled, then. I’ll ask the house-elves to get the Midnight Blue room ready for you.”

And I kind of die a little at his words. You see, the guest rooms are named after the prevailing colours they’re decorated in, and under the assault of a rather brutal fantasy flash of that divine body I’ve studied all too well stretched across the silken, midnight blue sheets, I nearly shoot my load. Merlin, Hugo Weasley, the things you do to me, and you don’t even know it…

“Father will make sure you’ve got everything you need,” I hear Scorpius’s voice as if from a distance. “It wouldn’t be appropriate or responsible of him to dwell in his quarters while we’re all settled here in the guest wing. I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to join us. Morning Mist room is more than suited to his needs. Don’t you agree, Father?”

And I’m once more rendered speechless. You see, the Morning Mist guest room is also adjacent… to the Midnight Blue room. At this point, I’m more than certain that my son is onto me – oh, yes, so very much onto me, the little son of a serpent! – and that he’s playing his own game I cannot fathom. And all I have to say is _no_ . No, I’m not willing to move out of my solitary quarters to be near Hugo, I’m not willing to play my son’s subtle manipulative game. But I can’t. I want this too much. Just knowing I’ll be near him – that there will be nothing but the thickness of the wall between us, drives me spare with yearning, and I simply cannot imagine saying _no_ to that, however hurtful and damaging to myself it may turn out to be.

Knowing full well how much of my heart’s desires I will reveal and how vulnerable I will make myself, I croak a stiff, breathless, _“Yes… of course…”_ , and I all but flee the room with an awkward, _“Now, if you’ll excuse me…”_. I can still feel the puzzled look from those deep blue eyes boring in the back of my head. I need some privacy. Badly. And a wank. A glorious one. What I don’t need, is his naked photograph. I have the image of that blue stare burnt into the back of my mind, the sense of strong fingers still lingering about my skin, and the scent of him in my nostrils… oh, yes, I’m perfectly sure I can come from that alone.

~

I would be a complete and utter liar if I said I wasn’t nervous. I can barely keep myself contained to my stiff Malfoyian posture while waiting until dinnertime to see him again. I know it’s going to be a ritual of sweet torture, but I can’t wait for it all the same. I don’t think I’ve ever been this smitten with anyone. I feel like I’m fifteen again, for Merlin’s sake, and I cannot help but wonder if that’s what they call “falling in love”. It makes perfect sense to call it “falling”. It feels as if you’re rapidly descending into a pit of feelings you cannot control, and you know that upon landing you might break everything you are. I wouldn’t know. I was never in love before. I wanted… oh, yes, I did. Even the boy’s father, to be perfectly honest. But never like this. This is… disastrous. And completely entrancing.

I don’t even trust myself enough to move into “my” new room yet, knowing that he’ll be in near, and god-knows-what devil may possess me when I’m close to him. I keep myself confined to my quarters, and I cannot, for the love of god, find anything to do that keeps my mind off him. I try replying to the mail I receive, but the words don’t come. I try reading, but I keep seeing that smiling face in front of me, those adorable freckles, those luscious, tender lips… and I’m hopelessly, desperately hard within moments. My body has gone crazy together with my mind, it seems, and the bastard thinks it’s fifteen as well.

So, in the end I give up and reveal my beloved piece of art and stare at it for a while. I didn’t lie when I said that Ted’s artwork was exceptional. In the picture, Hugo’s bare back is facing the camera, all glorious, long muscles and miles of unblemished, virgin skin against the crimson velvet background, glowing subtly. His head is bent and the plait of silken, long hair snaking over his shoulder is the colour of auburn wildfire, melting perfectly into the shades of the fierce background. His arms are folded behind his head, his hands touching the nape of his neck, and the composition of his body is in the shape of a heart bleeding to death, as if destroyed by a roaring dragon clawing up his naked back. It is a terrific as well as a spellbinding piece of art, and erotic in a way I cannot explain. It makes me ache and want to touch him to see if he’s real. God, he’s a vision.

Is that what he’s like underneath his clothes? I can’t believe I might get a chance to find out tomorrow! I think it hasn’t quite sunk in yet, because my mind is still roaming around, awed, untamed, wondering… Just look at all that muscle! Does he work out? I seem to remember that Scorpius mentioned that he was a Keeper, just like his father before him, but back then I cared nothing for one Hugo Weasley, and I hadn’t been paying attention. But now I’d like to know everything there is to know. Does he really have that livid red dragon tattooed across his back? It’s not in any of the black-and-white photographs, and Granger doesn’t seem the type to allow it – but Hugo doesn’t seem the type to care for anyone’s permission.

I wonder if his parents know about the pictures. Granger and Weasley Senior don’t seem to be interested in art much, but Potter was always very involved with his godson’s life; he might have heard it from Ted… Clearly, not many people know, or it would have come out one way or another. The Potter-Weasley clan has grown enormously in the last few years, and somebody would have talked if it was generally known…

But my contemplation is cut short by the noise of approaching footsteps, and much to my horror, I realise that Scorpius must be giving our guests a tour of the estate.

“The gardens are just _beautiful_ , Scorp! I never knew your home was so lovely!” Rose says enthusiastically, and I must say that this girl at least has some manners. For a Weasley.

“Well, last time you were here, it was winter. There was no point in trying to impress you with the gardens,” my son says, and I dare say he sounds uncommonly pleased. “And this is where father and I reside. The one on the left is my room, and here, across the hallway, are my father’s quarters. We spend most of our time here. Father likes the view of the sea, so he occupies the western side of the house, but my mother always thought it was too damp and cold on that side with all the sea wind, so she made sure my room was facing south. Come on in! We can sit on the balcony and soak up some sun before dinner.”

And as the door closes behind them, I realise that, mad as it seems, I can’t imagine not eavesdropping on their conversation. I want to hear more of Hugo, it’s as simple as that. I’m fairly certain his voice has addictive qualities, and I want to know everything there is to know about the beautiful boy I’ve been unknowingly obsessed with for so long. I slip onto my own balcony, which is just around the corner, where no one can spot me, yet I can follow their every word. I know it goes against every principle of good hospitality to spy on one’s guests, but at this point, I’m beyond caring. This is a Slytherin household; one ought to expect some snake-like behaviour.

“Your mother no longer lives with you?” are the first words I hear. Oh, yes, that was definitely him  – Hugo. Oh, sweet, befuddled patron saint of all fools… just hearing his deep, rumbling voice again melts my knees and sends shivers down my spine.

“Hugh! Don’t be such a brute! I swear you’re as bad as Dad sometimes! You don’t just throw that sort of question about lightly!” Rose scolds him, as Scorpius, my wonderful boy, just replies calmly:

“No, she doesn’t. They separated after…  It happened last summer. My father doesn’t like to talk about it though, and you’ll do well not to pry with such questions. He is a very private man, Hugo.”

“All right, all right, don’t freak out, the pair of you,” Hugo chuckles softly. “Just wanted to know if he was free to date.”

“Hugo!” Rose laughs, sounding part shocked, part entertained. But do, please, excuse me, while I collapse. Blasted boy! That’s not something to joke about! I nearly had a heart attack! Could he be…? He wouldn’t honestly be… _interested_?!

“You do realise that if he was in, he’d most likely be able to hear you?” Rose says matter-of-factly, clearly having the time of her life, and I’m surprised to hear my son giggle in response.

“He most certainly could if the door to his balcony was open, which it often is… so you better pray he’s _not_ in, or this is going to turn awkward fairly soon. Merlin, Hugo! You can’t attempt to seduce _everything_ with a pulse, you know! He’s just as bad as you said he was, Rose!”

“I never hit on you, did I?” Hugo points out casually. “And with half of the school being somehow related to me, my dating pool is too damn small, as you well know!” the redhead complains, but as he chuckles again, his indignant tone doesn’t sound entirely heartfelt.

“Bollocks, brother dear,” Rose comments dryly. “I swear I never saw you date the same person twice, and this must be the first night in… oh, tell me how long!... that you’re not getting any.”

“Just helping myself to what’s out there for the taking, sister dearest,” Hugo mumbles. “I can’t help it if they won’t leave me alone, can I? And I’d appreciate it if you stopped making me sound as if I’m cheap. It’s not like I’m _not willing_ to go steady, you know. It’s just… none of them are really the right type.”

“And what is _the right type_?” my son wants to know, and I know that predatory undertone in his voice all too well. This is no innocent question; my boy is after something.

“Well, I just happen to like them a bit more… mature,” Hugo replies calmly, and I must admit that my heart does a mad flip or two in the view of this information. Perhaps he wasn’t joking after all… And much to my surprise, my son snorts as if he finds the information most amusing.

“I thought you might. Well, I regret to report that my father doesn’t date. And even if he did, I’m not entirely sure you’re his type,” my evil child says provocatively, only to have Hugo laugh out loud, his deep, sex-laced voice suddenly stirring the air in a way that it gives me goosebumps.

“That was the most transparently camouflaged challenge I’ve ever encountered, Malfoy,” he says with laughter still resonating through his voice, and I’m shocked to discover that Hugo Weasley, Hermione Granger’s son, appears to be clever. Bugger… who knew?

“But since you brought it up, everyone is straight… until they aren’t,” the redhead adds calmly. “Still, I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to prove you wrong; you two seem to think I’m cheap as it is.”

“But if he were… _interested_ , you know, strictly hypothetically?” my son proposes slyly… and my heart nearly stops in my chest. How can that foolish boy of mine even ask such a cruel question?! I’m about to have my precious fantasies crushed by his folly, not to mention my pride, and I can’t even escape the wicked truth lest I reveal my presence. But the silence that follows my son’s words seems to stretch on forever, and I realise I’m holding my breath to hear Hugo’s reply.

“You know what the answer to that is,” the redhead finally says, so quietly I have to lean across the railing dangerously to hear him. Merlin, I’m not going to find out, am I? Why the hell am I so disappointed when his honesty might cripple me and…

“I’d jump him faster than you can say _‘I only meant it as a joke’_ , Malfoy. I don’t stop when I want something that I think should be mine. I bet your father has a melting point… I’d love to show him what it is… He seems like a man who knows how to enjoy a slow, repeated persuasion...” he says in a low, dangerous voice, as if sex was a weapon he was deadly with. And I cannot, for the love of god, help myself: my heart is beating in my ears like a thunderstorm, and I suddenly become aware of my achingly hard cock pressing against the balustrade. Oh, Merlin… I think I must have been hard since the moment I heard his voice, and now that I’ve finally realised my predicament, I back away from the railing as quickly as if there were a venomous snake about to strike waiting for me around the corner.

I find myself pressed with my back against the wall because I’m badly in need of some solid support – I think my knees have finally given up on me. He’d have me… he said he’d have me. And the way he said it… No one has ever spoken of me that way before. With silken, dark desire, as if the very thought of having me was a sin. I feel as if I’m nearly ill with the rush of yearning surging through my body, making me a hostage of my own raving libido. I’m desperate to have him, there’s no point in lying. I want to own Hugo Weasley so badly, I’m losing my mind. I want to own him the way I own his picture, I want to taste him and touch him, and, god, do I need to fuck him. I was never so acutely aware of my aching, needy body as I am around this boy. How the hell does someone hold magic like that?!

“ _JesusMerlin_ , Hugh… Don’t be such a beast…” Scorpius says, and for once, my “been-there-done-that” son sounds shaken. I can’t blame him. What we, the Malfoys, are used to, doesn’t come near that savage, hypnotising Weasley passion. There’s nothing civilised about the mad, bad ginger lot when they’re out to get some. I remember watching Weasley kiss Potter into coming all over himself in the Quidditch locker room, and it was such a sloppy, filthy, sex-charged, brutish business I couldn’t take my eyes off them as I wanked furiously in my hiding place.

Why the scar-faced idiot ever gave that up to marry Weasley’s sister, if only for a couple of decades, is beyond me! Maybe he was trying to be as normal as he could after the mad life he led until the war ended? Maybe he wanted a family so much Weasley had no heart to deny him – he was always willing to give anything up for Potter, even his life – why not his happiness? But I suppose it no longer mattered: they found the way to each other in the end, and I stopped caring about Ron Weasley and his heart the second I laid eyes on his son. God help me, I’m completely off my rails!

“I was only joking; you know that, don’t you?” my son says in a feeble attempt to sound superior, as his voice is still slightly shaky. “Even if my father were interested in men, you know, hypothetically, he’d probably like them a bit more classy than the growling, sex-crazed animal you are. Seriously, man, how does that work on anyone?” he says, clearly going for reproachful, but only managing to sound wistful.

“Some people like it simple,” Hugo explains casually. “Some want to learn from a guy with experience, because all that fumbling about is awfully embarrassing once you’re alone with your crush. Others come for a mind-blowing fuck, to get some tension out. And some want to experiment… and I don’t mind it a bit… unorthodox.”

“And some are bonkers about you,” Rose says pointedly. “You know Dad had the phone disconnected during the holidays because it drove him crazy when half of Hogwarts called, squealing _‘Hugo?! Is that you?!’_  into the receiver forty times a day!”

“Yeah, some are, uhm… stubborn,” Hugo admits grudgingly. “But what am I supposed to do? Give up dating because of some people taking their crush too seriously?! I happen to like sex, I need it, I know how to enjoy it - how’s that wrong?”

“But how about feelings? How about being head over the heels in love, head in the clouds and such? Don’t you ever want to experience that?” my son asks quietly. But much to my surprise, Hugo just chuckles softly.

“I’m a Weasley, remember? It’s unavoidable, and everyone knows they don’t make them more smitten than the Weasleys once it hits us! Sadly, there’s no way of knowing when it’s going to happen. Aunt Ginny has been bonkers about Harry since she was 10. Uncle Bill didn’t really fall for anyone until he met Aunt Fleur at 23. My Dad’s one and only hero was always Harry. Always. Even before he ever boarded the Hogwarts express, perhaps because he knew there was hope they’d share a house. And later, when Harry picked him over your father – and again, when he was the thing Harry treasured most. Whenever Harry welcomed him back when he would have been well within his rights to never look at him again… _always_ ,” he says with a strange mixture of pity and wistfulness in his voice.

“And did my poor deluded dad know it? He once told Harry that not until the moment when he heard Harry say _“I do”_ to Aunt Ginny, and then he looked at Dad with a sad, wistful smile, did my poor, oblivious father realise that he married the wrong person. And it caused everyone a lot of misery because they never stopped being drawn to each other, like they were meant to be, and in the end, there was no fighting it. So, you see, I could be in the middle of falling in love and not know it. The Weasley men seem to be right idiots that way, and I can’t imagine I’d be an honourable exception,” he chuckles, once again sounding playful, and I can’t believe my own folly and how flooded with hope it has made me.

Merlin the Merciful, I’m going to be dreadfully undone when he leaves tomorrow. I’m never likely to see him again after the photo session. How will I go on, knowing that somewhere out there, there is someone as perfect for me as Hugo Weasley, living his life, finding his love, never remembering my existence again? I shall be wretched. This boy is dangerous in a way that could damage my very core – and I have no idea how to protect myself. I can’t have him, that much is clear – yet if he only looked my way with interest in his eyes, I’d reach out for him as greedily as only a Malfoy can.

I’m so consumed by my contemplation that I barely hear the knock on the door. Only then do I become aware of an eerie silence, and in the blink of an eye before it happens, I realise what is going on: the door is open and my Scorpius is standing in the doorway.

“Father, are you in? We were having a very silly conversation… oh.”

He can see it. I know he can. From where he’s standing, he can see my unconcealed art photo of Hugo, and I just close my eyes in humiliation. It’s too late to do anything and any second now the star of my every hopeless dream is going to step in and see that I’ve been perving on him all along.

“He’s not in. Right lucky you are, Hugh, he might have heard your mad ramblings concerning him,” I hear my son’s casual, composed voice just before the door clicks. What did I ever do to deserve a son as wonderful as that? Now, there is no way Scorpius doesn’t know why I accepted his sleeping plan. I can’t expect anything of it, that’s as clear as day – but I can’t resist being near Hugo, so help me God. I know the closer I get, the deeper the void he’s going to leave behind once he’s gone. But I suppose I’m just cursed that way: I could never keep anything I treasure.

But as a true Malfoy, I’m going to take whatever I can get. Even if I’m going to pay with heartbreak afterwards. I know no other way.

~

The dinner that seemed hours away suddenly creeps up on me before I can figure out what to do, how to behave, and how not to fall apart and embarrass myself at the table completely. I’m a Malfoy, all right? It’s in my blood to fret internally! In the end, I decide there is really no point in fussing about. Whatever impression I leave Hugo with, it should have no long-term consequences, since I’m never likely to see the gorgeous boy again.

Only, I’m still nervous. And hopeful – god, yes – even if I have no idea what for. I don’t think I’ve been so unsettled and jittery since my teens! I can’t say that I take special interest in how I look for the occasion – because we, the Malfoys, are naturally expected to be dashing at all times – and if I decide that my entire wardrobe is worthless and should immediately be replaced by brand new items of all kinds, that is entirely unrelated to the presence of one Hugo Weasley…

And of course, he is effortlessly gorgeous. As soon as he enters, I’m glad I’m sitting already, waiting for them at the head of the massive festively decorated table. I feel my body respond instantly, as if the mere sight of him pulled some lever of infatuation inside me, and my skin prickles with raw energy. I have to force my eyes off him long enough to acknowledge Rose and Scorpius joining us in the dining room, but soon enough I’m back to staring again, however covertly I can. Seriously, he’s a dream.

Those Muggle clothes he’s wearing look somehow _right_ with his youth, his striking physique and that knock-out smile. I can’t get used to them myself, since they only became popular among wizarding kind after the war, and I can’t even name most of them. But he makes me recognise their appeal for the first time. Those blue denim trousers riding low on his hips – I think they’re called “jeans” – certainly accentuate those long, strong legs beautifully, and he has a plain silken cobalt blue shirt on, as if he knows he doesn’t have to try to take my breath away. The way the thin fabric clings to every contour of his broad shoulders and stretches across the muscled chest makes it a necessity for me to literally swallow my drool. The top two buttons are open, and I can see a thin silver necklace slithering past the strong collarbones. I want to bury my face in that very spot and follow its path into the darkness underneath his shirt so badly, that I’m aching. Merlin, it’s been too long… And never, ever this intense.

I can’t stop the thought from coming however hard I try: I want to fuck him. By Salazar the king of debauchery, there’s a 16 – , perhaps 17 year-old boy in my home, and I can barely keep myself from the temptation of knocking him backwards and fucking him into the ground. Merlin, what kind of savage sorcery does he possess to make me feel so out of control… so ensnared? The closer he comes, the more befuddled I become. It’s like the centre of the world has moved towards me, and when he stops in front of me, I’m completely disorientated and nearly dizzy with need.

“May I?” he points to the chair near me, and my heart nearly flies out of my chest. I can’t even talk, because the sudden vicious rush of blood in my ears is too loud, so I only nod with a knot in my throat, and he slips into his place beside me. Ohhhh…. Hugo… goddammit… ohhh… The warm, earthy scent of him is intoxicating, reaching toward me like a seductive serpent inviting me to lean over the edge into the abyss of my overwhelmed senses… Jesus, it’s like I’m drugged. And I don’t even know what it is – perhaps his fiery hair, or his lustrous alabaster skin, perhaps the very essence of him – but something about this redhead makes me barely keep down a quiet moan. Hugo Weasley smells of silken desire and nights filled with slow, sweet fucking, and I want, want, want…

I sneak another sidelong glance his way to soak up some more of the beauty that I cannot get enough of, and I meet his eyes. Bugger. Caught in the act. He smiles his boyish lopsided grin, but somehow it comes out incredibly sexy, playful and predatory. I swear he’s toying with me. Successfully, I’m afraid. I’m rock hard under the table.

“You were busy this afternoon?” he asks me, perhaps just to make small talk since Rose and Scorpius are clearly too immersed into each other to keep the conversation going.

“Yes. I had chores to do that could not wait,” I lie, and as always, I surprise myself with how smoothly the lies come out of my mouth. My father would be proud of me; it seems that after all these years, lying comes second nature.

“Is it then convenient for you to go with me tomorrow? You know… to the photo session?” he asks without lifting his eyes off his plate – and my heart just sinks. Does he no longer wants me to, or….?

“I thought… if it’s not convenient for you we could perhaps go another day? I could always reschedule, you know. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, just some time this week while I’m home. Teddy suggested tomorrow because the weather was supposed to be nice but any other day…”

“No,” I cut him off abruptly, too relieved to care about politeness. “I want… I would be happy to attend tomorrow.”

So he wasn’t trying to get out of it, he was trying to make sure it happened! I’m nearly giddy with irrational joy, and I just want to lean into him… and possibly sink my teeth into that endless strong neck that I seemed to have developed a fetish for in the last five minutes. Just above that enticing silver chain, into that sweet spot where the neck meets the shoulder… sucking hard enough to leave a mark and licking the throbbing pulse gently afterwards… oh, yes. Sweet Merlin, I nearly made myself come…

I look away hastily, suddenly mortified… and then another thought strikes me.

“Has he said yes, then?” I ask, almost too quickly to have any dignity left, but I no longer care how desperate I sound. “Has Ted agreed?” I clarify, just to be absolutely dead certain.

“Well… that depends…” he suddenly smiles absent-mindedly into his plate, and I swear I’m jealous of his food –  that's how badly I want to jump him!

“On what?” I ask, but I’m not really invested in getting my answer, as I’m too busy drooling at that soft sensual mouth delicately sucking the grease off one of his fingers.

“On you,” he says calmly. “On how badly you want to come.”

Merlin… how _badly_ I want to come… he can’t be onto me yet, he can’t… oh. How badly I want to come to…

“To the photo session,” he clarifies casually, as if he didn’t nearly give me a coronary, and when his mouth stretches into a sweet, naughty smile, I can’t tell up from down anymore. Is this boy really entirely ignorant of the effect he has on me, or does he just enjoy toying with me? I don’t know which idea turns me on more.

“Oh, I see. But how…?”

“Teddy was none too pleased with my suggestion of bringing you along,” he tells me softly, and my heart drops once again. Was I really not meant to have this dream come true?

“So I told him that we were dating,” Hugo says quietly… and time stops. A fork clatters to the table, and it’s not mine. I’m clutching mine in my hand so tightly I’ll probably have a permanent imprint of it in the palm of my hand.

I’m looking at him, transfixed, and I shake my head in disbelief. He’s quite mad, isn’t he? Oh, god, yes he is. Beautifully so.

“Hugo…” his sister exhales, and continues in a quiet, shaky voice. “You shouldn’t have…”

“Brilliant idea if I ever heard one…” my son says adamantly, and when I look at him, Scorpius is smiling. His eyes dart toward the redheaded menace, and he lifts his glass to the redhead as if toasting him in congratulations. “A move worthy of a true Slytherin. You lot certainly know how to get what you want.”

“You’re… in Slytherin?!” flies out of me, and I can barely believe my eyes when he nods proudly and toasts me:

“Best house ever!”

Oh, sweet and holy Rowena, that certainly explains a lot! The child of Ron Weasley and the M… the goody-two-shoes is a _Slytherin_! I almost want to laugh out loud! Only, I’m sort of breathless and nearly dizzy because he’s looking straight at me… and the rest of the world seems to slowly fade away. I’m hypnotised by those impossibly deep blue eyes and quite desperate to take in as much of the detail in the striking face as I can.

“Look… I meant no harm,” he suddenly says softly. “I guess it’s like Scorpius said: I usually make sure to get what I want, and I don’t care much how I do it. It drives my parents spare, that’s for certain. But you’re our host, and I shouldn’t have pulled you into this one. Not without your consent. So, I suppose I’m saying you don’t really have to go unless you want to. I could just send Teddy another owl and say it was a prank; I’ve definitely done worse before. But if you do…”

“Of course Father will go!” I hear Scorpius’s voice coming from somewhere in the room. “He loves a good prank! Plus, he complained about his social life – or lack there of – earlier. I should think he’s very much in need of some _cultural_ entertainment.”

But my throat is still not cooperating, and the redhead doesn’t say anything either. He’s only staring at me thoughtfully, almost as if he’s reading me – and somewhere in the back of my mind another, rational Draco remembers that this is Granger’s child, and even Legilimency isn’t out of the question. However, _this_ Draco – the Draco currently in control – doesn’t care about trivial things such as invasion of the privacy in his head. The idiot in charge cares about nothing else but seeing himself in those enchanting orbs of crystal blue.

“Do you _want_ to go?” he finally asks quietly, tilting his head in that regal way he does. “Because in the end, nothing else matters.”

He’s telling me to ignore my son and his own attempt at manipulation, and do what I want to. He shouldn’t have bothered. Not going was never an option. I nod stiffly before I can stop myself, before I can think it all through and allow my rational brain to kick in. Merlin, what am I getting myself into?! It seems that simply being around Hugo makes me dangerously reckless, and all of my usual restraints seem to be failing, one after another…

“I… I suppose I want to,” I say in a tight voice – and I don’t even know how it came about that I’ve managed to say it. “I will.”

My mouth seems to be running on autopilot, taking orders from my crazed heart, and when it comes to Hugo Weasley, the over-glorified blood-pumping muscle clearly has only one thing to say: I want. And that’s the only thing that resonates through me.

“If nothing else, for the sake of seeing Ted’s face. That alone should be worth it,” I blurt out miserably in order to mask my complete and utter surrender, but in spite of the radiant smile making his eyes light up like stars, I can tell this true child of Slytherin is not fooled.

“Of course,” he nods gracefully, but then something unfathomable flutters across his eyes, and he adds quietly: “But you know… you’ll have to act the part.”

And I instantly know I just fell into an expertly set trap. He presented me with this… perfect snare, and now he has me cornered. I said I would… and now I have to. Only, I can’t say I regret it _one.little.bit_. There’s all kinds of rubbish invading my mind, and for the sake of keeping at least a semblance of my dignity, I only nod rather curtly. I honestly don’t know what utter nonsense might fly out of my mouth should I attempt to speak. Words like, _“You’re my dream come true, how could I not?”_ or _“Do I get to touch you?”_ , seem quite plausible at the moment. Yes. It appears I’ve gone quite mental. And, oh, god, sincere! Is there a worse way for a Slytherin to be!?

But however rude my consent, it seems to be enough for him.

“Splendid,” he says dreamily, and smiles oh-so-sweetly – and suddenly I recognise the golden flicker in his blue eyes: it’s a challenge. I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to prove, but my very skin is bristling with expectation, and I feel more alive than I have in decades. It seems that Hugo Weasley is my very own undiluted poison. In case you ever doubted it.

I barely dare look at him again, and instead, I’m hopelessly trying not to act too out of sorts, and give everyone the wrong impression that I’m just as unfit for company as they thought me to be.

“So,” I speak hastily, “How did your parents take the fact that you were sorted into Slyterin?”

And he laughs that golden, rumbling laughter that goes straight into my head and my cock, and I just know I could fill this entire house with that precious sound alone and make it feel like home once more.

“Obviously, I wasn’t there – and I was glad of it, you can trust me on that! But the legend says – er, that would be Uncle George – that my mother ran around the house like a mad ghost for half the evening, mumbling something like _“I knew it! I tried to tell him that would happen if he was so mischievous!”_ , but in the end she sniffled for a bit and was fine with it.”

Yes, I can totally imagine Granger was trying – hard enough to make herself cry – to be all-accepting and unbiased.

“Dad, however, was a different story. Apparently, he had to be revived – _twice_ . Then he tried to send the letter back, saying that the owl must have delivered a letter from the wrong child. It wasn’t until Harry told him that the Sorting Hat wanted to put _him_ in a Slytherin and he refused, that he figured out that Sorting was something one could actually have a word in… and was, naturally, crushed for a while. That is, until Harry dragged him to the Leaky, got them both so sloshed they couldn’t stand unless they were leaning on each other, at which point Harry decided that that was as good a moment as any to confess his undying love to my dad. And since Dad was always kind of Harry-crazy, he apparently didn’t think twice before he jumped him… and somehow managed to Apparate them to Harry’s home while they were still kissing. Sadly, Aunt Ginny was still awake…”

Merlin, Weaslette… she was always vicious with her spells! At this point, I almost feel sorry for the Saviour; I regret to report I still remember fairly well the extent of the damage a livid spouse can do.

“Yeah, I bet you can imagine that didn’t go down too well,” Hugo chuckles at the sight of my facial expression that must be showing some of my reminiscing. “They were both divorced a month later, though not yet entirely healed from all the hexes, and they’ve been living happily together ever since.  They even tied the knot last year, as I’m sure you know. And that’s the story – a true one! – of how I helped my dad finally shack up with the love of his life. This seems to be something I’m good at,” he shoots a brilliant, mischievous grin into my disbelieving face, takes a sip of his beverage, and casually licks a drop of liquid from the corner of his mouth.

Oh, Merlin the Round-Eyed… Must he do this?! It seems that I’m slowly but surely developing an unhealthy obsession with that sweet, lascivious mouth that cannot end well. I remember his bloody father being the same way at school. He would torment his food and tease Potter with it for ages – I was always wondering if one day, the four-eyes would just break and jump him at the table. That fucking soft, fucking tempting, fucking… Weasley mouth, seriously! How am I supposed to function properly under such an unfair assault?!

Luckily, my son rescues this calamity of a dinner again. He obviously notices how very distraught and distracted I am, and as a true Malfoy, trained by his grandmother, the perfect hostess, he effortlessly takes matters into his own hands. He casually drags Hugo into a conversation about school and NEWTs, and soon, conversation is flowing smoothly. I barely take part in it, which is just as well… I could use some time to myself… because I cannot seem to take my mind off tomorrow.

He seemed to really want me present at the photo session. Why would he say something as insane as that… that we were involved? Who even thinks of that?! I mean, obviously, he’s perfectly mad, but Scorpius is right: it is the Slytherin way – anything to achieve the goal. Oh, I bet Lupin nearly had a stroke. I wonder if he called my mother already to confirm. Strangely, I don’t care. Normally, that would be the first thing on my mind: get your public persona right. But now, with Hugo around… and with the chance to pose as his… partner? boyfriend? - I honestly _don’t care_. I’ve got more important things on my mind. Like… Will I get to see him naked? What if Lupin has an entirely different concept in his mind? Do I get to hold his hand going there? Merlin… kiss him, even? The very thought… Oh, horror, I absolutely shouldn’t allow my mind to go there! By this rate, I’m going to drive myself spare by the time we’re due at the photo session!

As if on cue, Hugo stands up from the table and stretches those long, long muscles like an exotic ginger kneazle. I know my eyes must be close to bulging out, but I honestly cannot help myself. As his shirt rides up his body, I catch a glimpse of the alabaster skin and a trace of hard muscle, and there’s only so much I can do not to come in my pants. This particular Weasley is an open, shameless advertisement for sex.

“I’m going to skip dessert,” he says calmly. “Need to keep in shape for tomorrow, I can’t show up to Teddy’s looking like a barrel – and I would, if I’m left at the mercy of all this excellent food. And I need my  beauty sleep; it’s been a long day. Will you show me to my room, or shall I wait for one of the house-elves?” he tilts his head, looking at me, and I swear it looks… it even _sounds_ like an invitation.

“Well, yes. I’m happy to report that that’s the host’s honour,” I cannot get up fast enough. “If you had any luggage, the house elves had it delivered, I assure you.”

“I’m afraid nothing but a bag with some spare clothes – my dad’s… fit of concern... was so unexpected, he practically pushed me out of the house,” Hugo explains with a chuckle as the door closes behind us. I can just hear Scorpius shout after us cheekily: “Never mind us, we’ll find our way to our rooms by ourselves!” – that terrible brat! – and I hear Rose giggle in response. But then it’s just us, Hugo and I, in a long, silent corridor leading to our rooms.

“Lead the way,” he says softly. “I’m afraid your home is so grand, I no longer have any idea where I am.”

“This way,” I tell him, and I’m surprised my voice still works. I’m walking next to him, inhaling his rich, sex-laced scent, and I’m just… trembling with raw need to have him. Oh, I’d ravage him completely if I could. He is such a sweet, forbidden, spicy temptation… I swear all my nerves are on fire, and I keep silent because if I so much as take a deep breath, I’m afraid I’ll end up pushing my tongue into his mouth and plundering that divine softness.

“I don’t mind any longer though,” Hugo speaks warmly, with that deep, shiver-inducing voice that affects me so. “I don’t mind spending time in your home. I like it here, with you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“We’re here,” I say weakly, because it’s all I can do not to jump him and fuck him into the wall. “This is…”

But I can’t even finish. The last particle of my sane Malfoyian mind is silently screaming at me to point out the door of his room and run – run for my sanity and for what I’ve made of my life. But there is this… beggar Draco, feverish, and needy, and so very starved for love, who stands stiff, rooted to the ground and on fire, and stubbornly refuses to let go of the last few moments in the presence of a boy who is no mere boy, but his very own miracle.

“I know,” he says quietly, and suddenly his sultry voice is just above the whisper: “Mr. Malfoy… why won’t you look at me?”

“This room is yours,” I’m babbling miserably, trying so hard to ignore his question, because I _can’t_ look at him, I can’t stand to see him say goodnight, and I don’t even care how rude or embarrassing I seem.

But suddenly those long, calloused fingers find their way under my chin and he turns my head towards him gently, too gently. I find myself staring into heaven made of blue eyes, tender luscious lips, and a galaxy of golden freckles, and my breathing is nothing but uncontrollable panting, as if my own arousal and yearning to possess, feel, and own this young man scare me beyond words.

“Mr. Malfoy…” he whispers, sounding lost, and then in a surge of dark fierceness… “Fuck that.”

The next thing I know, I’m knocked backwards, pressed against the wall, and that soft, sweet mouth is upon mine… and my loins nearly explode. Those delicious lips ignite a monstrous kind of magic inside me. They bring along fire, passion and tenderness that are corroding through the last of my restraints until no trace of them remains. I hear myself moan wantonly into the kiss as if all my dreams came true in the unexpected, god-given assault of his hungry, overpowering mouth. Oh, his mouth is heaven…

How could I have gone through life for so long and not known what it truly meant to be kissed… like this?! As soon as I open myself for the invasion of his silken, demanding tongue, I feel myself melting into a molten river of raw need and hopeless yearning, because Hugo Weasley, with his greedy, brain-melting kisses, takes no prisoners. I should never have gone near him. This blue-eyed god recognises none of my haughty upbringing and cares nothing for the sins of my past. He’s kissing me until I’m breathless, stupid, and obsessed, setting my skin on fire. His passion just burns through my reservations, my need for control, my feeble denial that this is not what I want. _I crave it._

One of his hands is suddenly in my hair, pulling my head back and upward until I’m nearly standing on my toes because he’s such a bloody giant. And when his other hand closes around my waist possessively and pulls me closer, I’m rendered helpless. My hands slide onto his wonderfully broad, muscled back, and I’m clinging to him like he is my lifeline and I’m getting all I need to live out of his mouth: the warm, intoxicating breath he keeps stealing from me, the untameable wildfire of lust spreading down my body from nothing else but the sensual dance of our tongues, and a promise of pure, breathless, senseless ecstasy that was never so very much within my reach. So close… so bloody close…

His hand slides down my waist and onto my arse, gripping hard and squeezing lewdly, slamming my tormented, constricted cock against his thigh, until it’s rubbing against the hot, hard bulge in his pants, and I gasp and cry out all in at once.

“Fuck…” he breathes feverishly into our kiss. “Forgive me… it’s just a little taste… just a taste. You… fuck… you’re the hottest… sexiest… neediest posh little thing alive. I saw it… under your polished surface the first time I laid eyes on you… how much you’re holding back… how badly you need it… need to have a good… hard… thorough _fuck_ … that will put you right again. You are… so fucking beautiful… like this… when you’re undone… I never meant to… it’s just a kiss…”

“Hugo…” I whimper, and I can’t believe how needy and pleading I sound, but I’m so fucking close that I can’t stop, and everything aches and… and…

“I won’t stop now…” he whispers darkly, and when he gently bites my bottom lip, the heady surge of sweet pain is just as rapturous as any tenderness. “I can’t… I need to see you come undone… You need to let go… so gorgeous… You need to unravel… Let me see you come undone… _Draco_ …”

That’s all it takes. The way he says my name. Sensually. Like it’s forbidden and a pleasure of its own. I slam against him, ruthless and driven wild in my urgency for release, and I’m already arching backwards, desperately fucking my throbbing cock against his thigh… and then I’m finally there – gone, shaking and spilling, coming and spilling some more, yelping and biting back unintelligible rubbish mixed with his name. It’s messy and dirty and so incredibly... fucking good I can no longer register the world around me. My vision has gone black, and there are nothing but tiny specks of gold dancing through the brutal force of my release. Oh, it’s been too long… it’s been too fucking long. And never with someone like this… like him. Hugo.

The one person I worshipped before I knew him. The need to see him – to see if it’s really him and not some bizarre impossible dream – is so great that I force my eyes open, and when they drown in the sea of blue, I smile blissfully, unable to help myself. Boneless, completely ravished, in full sight of disapproving portraits and any casual inhabitant, I realise that I’ve just come into my pants from nothing more than insane, sloppy, frenzied kissing, and the very thought makes me throw my head back, unable to hold back an incredulous laugh. And when I find his eyes again I see my own awed face staring back at me from the magical blue mirror. With a small, intriguing smile on those swollen, damaged lips I want to bite and fuck and do all kinds of crazy, dirty things with, he whispers dreamily:

“I knew you’d be beautiful… I had to know. I never… It was never meant to go that far. But I suppose… if you are to be my date tomorrow, if only for a day, I needed to see that you could be….”

He moves away from me unexpectedly, and my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the sight of the massive, angry bulge in his pants.

“You haven’t…” I try, but my voice is all raw and nothing comes out right.

“No,” he shakes his pretty, fiery head. “This one was for you. Not for us. For you. Because you needed it. And so you’d know what it means to be with me. You know, for tomorrow.”

“I… wait…”

But before I can figure out what it all means, and what to say, and how to tell him that he’s mine… that I want him and that he’s fucking _mine_ now, he slips into his room and the lock clicks softly behind him. And I barely have the strength to push off the wall and find my way across the hallway into my own room, dizzy and nearly befuddled with release, but with one clear purpose in my mind: to do this again. This… and more.

~

I stumble to the bed in what is to be my bedroom for the night, and for a few long moments my head is completely blank. _What.The hell.Just happened?!_  I didn’t just let a boy of 16 – wait, or is he 17? I really need to find out now, it matters! Oh, this is too bad for words… I didn’t just let a potentially underage boy tongue-fuck me into coming, did I?! Only, I did, it seems. Oh, Salazar the Horny, how far gone was I?! How come I never noticed how desperate for a fuck I’ve become?! As a Malfoy, one is raised to believe that their needs – even the basest ones – need to be served if one is to function properly. My father was all too clear on that subject. Yet, I managed to somehow stifle this… this, hungry want for sex for too long, and now it exploded at the most inappropriate moment, with a person that could hardly be more ill-suited. _If_ I’m lucky enough that this is all there is to it… I fear that I’m not.

Out of an odd sense of decency, I perform a quick _Scourgify,_ but at the sight of the mess I’ve made of myself, I have a passing thought that I’m just as bad as Ron Weasley thinks me, and a short giggle escapes me from out of nowhere. I’m clearly completely beside myself. Malfoys don’t giggle, for Heaven’s sake! Grandfather Abraxas might have renounced me simply for making such an undignified sound! But then, the stiff old Dementor who never cracked a smile in his entire life would have never gotten himself into a situation in which he was desperate to fuck the possibly underage son of his oldest enemy. Merlin, Hugo…

What is it about him that made me let go of myself so completely? I just melted under his touch! That bloody Weasley magic… I knew I should have never let the lot of them into my home! The girl is bad enough, but this boy… oh, this boy… But even as I think that, I find myself sliding off the bed and tiptoeing towards the door that divides our bedrooms. Shamelessly – oh, the horror! – I lean against the door and try holding my breath in a foolhardy attempt to perhaps catch the sound of him moving around the room so I can visualise what he’s up to. I _need_ to know what he’s up to, I need to feed on that warm presence, I need to be able to picture that god-like body I felt moving under my hands during our brief, insane encounter… I need it. I have no excuse. But I hear nothing. Merlin…

In a sudden fit of madness, I back away from the door ever so slightly and perform an old spying spell I remember learning from my father. The door instantly becomes transparent, but now I need to be mindful not to make a sound or he’ll know. I don’t see him at first, but then I quietly take a step to the right to see his bed – and there he is. And my breath literally stops in my chest – because he’s just as beautiful as I knew he was going to be against those night-sky sheets. All too beautiful.

He’s just lying there, those long limbs stretched in every direction, the fiery hair spilling like molten lava – and then he slowly turns his head towards the door between our rooms, looking straight at me. And my heart goes positively wild. My hot breath is caught somewhere in my throat, making my lungs burn, and I’m nearly dizzy from the sensation of being breathlessly caught in this boy’s beauty. He _cannot_ possibly know I am here, yet he keeps staring in my direction as if he wants me to be, as if he’s thinking of me.

And then one of his arms folds, and those long fingers casually slide down his torso and come to a stop on top of the bulge between his legs… _MerlinChrist_... It’s still there, magnificent and full of insinuated dark promises, promises of yielding to a man who knows what he wants, and he wants it from me. I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop a desperate sound from escaping me, but the coppery taste brings back the memory of his silken tongue sweeping across my damaged lip, and the next thing I’m biting is the palm of my hand. It came to my rescue in the last moment, because Hugo’s wonderful, curious fingers are moving in slow circles across the tented fabric and any time now… any time now he’s going to…

He takes his cock out, and my other hand just flies to my own shaft at the sight of this… _monster_ . Even from my position and at a weird angle, I can see how impossibly big he is. _God-fuck_ , how does that thing fit anywhere?! Oh, but it’s delicious… That giant hand of his fits around it perfectly, and it’s long and thick and angry-looking. It would tear right through me like a spear. _Ohgodohgodohgod,_ how I crave it… My own flesh is hot and sensitive beneath my touch, and it’s no surprise that I’m hopelessly hard again already. This gorgeous ginger bastard just presses all my buttons at once, Christ... He begins to fuck his hand – hard, rhythmical shoves of his arse driving his cock through the tight ring of his fingers – and I can’t help myself. On my side of the door, I fall into his rhythm, into his unrelenting, magical eyes and under his spell. I’m doing this with him and for him, and there’s no way in hell I’m holding back.  

He makes delicious little sounds when he’s close, and I’m feverishly hoping they’re enough to cover up my helpless panting. The hand on his cock becomes a blur, and when I see those lush, pretty lips move, whispering… something… I become fixated on them. I desperately want to fill that tender mouth with my cock and fuck it until I’m falling apart in the hot cavern, driven mad by that sensual tongue… Then those fucking soft lips are moving again, and I imagine them emitting puffs of hot air and teasing me senseless. _Jesusfuck_ , anytime now I’m going to bite through my own fucking fingers if he keeps doing this.

“Fuck... babe… Draco…” he finally moans quietly, sinking into his fist forcefully one last time, as if pounding his bursting cock into me… and I’m… I’m biting my hand hard to hold back a scream, coming as if he had just let me. Oh, Merlin… fuck this… _ohfuckingMerlin_ … what am I to do? My legs melted at some point, and now I’m down on my knees, panting like a bitch in heat, wanting nothing more than to blast the door down and wrap myself deeply in that delicious red-haired devil who has such an ungodly effect on me. _Jesusfuck_ , just look at me! It’s all gone to the dogs – my breeding, my lonesome ways, my cultivated style, my language – as soon as I’m near one of them.

Makes me wonder why my father always kept away from Arthur Weasley… and then didn’t, seeking confrontation with him whenever he could. Wouldn’t it be fun if this was a proper family curse? I doubt he’d be too keen on the word fun, though. And he’d never admit to it, never. Unlike my son. But what about me? Where the hell am I headed with this sick obsession? I promptly forget all my deep existential questions as the object of my unhealthy perving stretches his long, muscled limbs like a satisfied kneazle, and murmurs softly: “And _this_ … this was for me, you, beautiful blond bastard.”

Gods… How could anyone look at him and not be crazy about him? He pulls himself up to lean on his elbows, as if he couldn’t quite trust his legs, and tilts his head backwards so that his fiery hair is spilling down his back. Then he rolls his head from left to right, as if he’s trying to have a good look at the room.

“Oh, nice,” he passes his judgement, and then his eyes stop on the door to the en-suite bathroom I had installed for every one of the guest rooms. “Merlin, this chaperone thing just keeps getting better and better,” he chuckles softly, and pulls himself up in a sitting position. “Is that what I think it is?”

And when he begins to undo the buttons on his shirt, my mouth instantly goes dry. Fuck… just… fuck. I’m fucked. He’s a bloody vision, that’s what he is. He has that nearly transparent skin of a true redhead, and he couldn’t have been shirtless much this year, because his freckles are nearly faded into the alabaster background of his torso, rippling with muscles. The pendant on his thin, silver necklace is a coiled serpent, a symbol of Slytherin, and that alone is enough to fill my starved cock with another wild flush of juices. That simple ornament around his long, muscled neck, is the sexiest thing ever, pulling my eyes towards the broad shoulders like a charm. Perhaps it is charmed. How else can I explain being half-hard already from watching a possibly underage boy open his shirt? Only, he’s not just any boy, is he? It’s Hugo, the worshiped model in my most prized piece of art, and I know that muscled chest as if it was mine already.

I’m waiting with bated breath to see if he’s going to remove his shirt completely, but he doesn’t. He gets up instead and heads for the bathroom, and a minute later, I hear him whistle a happy tune. Merlin, he’s still such a child… or perhaps, such a Weasley. And since I have nothing better to do than just sit there like a pathetic, hopelessly-smitten heap of horny expectation, I’m awaiting his return, still somewhat knackered, and frantically trying to remember if that particular bathroom is stocked with a dressing gown - or will I be lucky enough to get a closer look again? But I think it’s safe to say that all my prayers are answered when he finally returns. He’s a… he’s… _Oh.My.God_ ….

I’m not certain my brain still works. At all. I think the damn thing has finally melted beyond repair. He comes out, the steam rolling out behind his back making him look like one of those Muggle rack-stars my son adores, and he’s towel-drying his red hair, which, when wet, is the colour of late autumn sun, much like in that glorious picture I own. And the rest of him… It’s… I’m… oh, gods. He’s got a towel loosely tied around his narrow hips, and he’s every bit as gorgeous as in any of those priceless photographs. There are still tiny rivulets of water running from his hair down his muscled chest, but he sighs as if annoyed, and quickly ties the flaming river of hair into a man-bun that makes him look every bit like an ancient warrior of the past. For me, he’s just as deadly. Entranced, I get up, with some crazy idea that I’m going to reach out for him, and I barely manage to stop my outstretched arm. Barely. I’m afraid I’ve gone quite mental. I’m not even mortified. I’m just… staring.

That long, elegant neck makes him look so majestic… arched on top of those utterly lickable collarbones that seem to call my name, melting into the square shoulders sprayed in a fine, golden stardust of tiny freckles… and those endless, strong legs, barely covered by a towel – he’s every bit like a statue of a Greek god, but alive and, breathing and warm… oh, he even _looks_ warm. But then he turns around to close the bathroom door, and any doubt I might have still had that it was really him is gone: there is my beloved fierce dragon staring straight at me from across his broad back, puffing angrily, and looking so alive, as if he’s ready to charge at me. I’m… mesmerised. All hope that this is just a passing attraction is instantly gone, scorched to dust, evaporated. This man is my every living fantasy, and I just know I’ll wank to this very image of him for the rest of my life.

He leisurely stretches to get his wand next, and I realise he’s about to put the candles out. There’s no fighting the disappointment that floods me, but then he suddenly stops mid-motion and turns his head towards the door… my door. And I’m still standing there as if rooted to the ground, and I’m afraid to move, breathe, or blink. Have I betrayed myself somehow? Does he know…? He turns around slowly, and perhaps it’s his golden red mane, but he looks incredibly wildcat-like and predatory in the way he moves. He stops right in front of the door, and stares at it, at me… and tilts his head gently. And I’m just standing there, motionless, tense like a string about to break, mortified at the chance of being discovered… and aching for it all the same. If only he knew…

He stretches his arm out, and his long fingers run down the wooden door I can no longer see, and I can almost feel his body heat and those calloused fingers upon me. It’s incredibly sensual, and it makes me tremble under a fresh surge of massive arousal. Damn that boy… And then his other hand crawls to the knot keeping his towel in place, undoing it… and a second later, Hugo Weasley is standing in front of me naked, gorgeous beyond words, god-like, and he whispers softly:

“Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy.”  

When he turns away and walks towards his bed, my legs finally give out on me. That’s all right. Because… that arse… I could form a new religion just to worship it. Muscled, the arse of an athlete, the sexiest round buns moving at a synchronised pace as he walks away, with that vicious dragon swaying from left to right above them, as if protecting its treasure jealously… Poetry. Merlin. It’s as if all my frustrated sexual desires from the months of solitude got compressed into those few moments of staring at Hugo Weasley’s divine arse… and I know… I just know if he so much as hints at it, I’m going to fuck him with all I’ve got. It’s not like I could stop myself.

“ _Nox_ ,” he says, and the blissful image of his naked marble body against the silken sheets slips into the darkness and leaves me trembling with desire and exhaustion.

 

~

I have no idea how I found the way to my bed that night, but I blame how my night went on that very exhaustion. I don’t remember much of it; afterwards I never do, but it must have been a nightmare, a terrible one, one from the war involving my mad aunt and screaming people, because that one always makes me thrash about, destroy my linen, and wake up feeling drenched and filled with dread… Only now there is a set of strong, warm arms wrapped around me for protection, and I’ve been pulled into a wonderfully soft, safe embrace closing around me, and though my throat is still raw from screaming, I know… I know I’m safe and none of my demons can reach me. I can feel it. It’s priceless. It’s him.

I had the scent of him still in my nostrils, and now it’s back… and in spite of still shaking, I’m ridiculously relieved and indescribably comforted.

“Shhh… you’re all right now,” he whispers, and I find his deep, warm voice incredibly soothing. “You were screaming, and I came to get you… It’s all right now, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. Dad gets them too, you know… Less and less now, since he’s been with Harry... perhaps falling asleep with his Harry puts all his fears to rest. But he used to get a lot of them when I was little. Screaming about some woman torturing Mum, about Uncle Fred and Harry being dead… all the horrors he could never leave behind… So I would crawl to bed with him when Mum was working late, and he always said that sleeping next to me made him feel as if everything was as it should be. If you like… would you like me to stay?” he offers quietly, and I’m not thinking of anything when I nod.

The man of my dreams has his arms around me, I’m immersed in his divine, warm scent… what would you do? I wish for nothing else.

“Good… all right,” he whispers calmingly, and doesn’t let go of me for a second. He positions himself on his back and pulls me up with him to lay on top of that massive torso. As my head instinctively finds the crook of his neck and my hand looks for his heartbeat, he closes his arms around me and captures me in his warmth and magic. His long fingers begin threading through my hair gently, massaging my scalp, relaxing me beyond words. I’m feeling his steady heartbeat, my eyelids are getting heavy, and the last thought on my mind is that I can’t remember when I last felt so happy and at peace.

When I wake up in the morning, he’s gone – and I have no way of telling if perhaps it was all only a dream my fatigued brain, in need of comfort, provided. But I desperately want it to be true. The strange, almost dizzying spell of happiness still clings to me when I get up, and with no small amount of shock, I find myself in the middle of whistling a tune while shaving. Quite mortifying. More so because it’s the very tune I heard Hugo whistle last night. Merlin the All-Hearing, if he caught me, he could have guessed… I really need to get myself under control! However, there’s a strange sense of recklessness flowing through me that makes me feel bold… and free… and it’s scary and heady alike. And, of course, I’m dead nervous. So much so that I won’t allow myself to think of the day ahead of me. But there is no running from it. Not that I would want to.

No sooner than I’m done, there’s a soft rap on the door between our rooms, and my heartbeat goes from steady to _“Are you out of your bloody mind?!”_  in about a second flat. My fingers are shaking imperceptibly when I open the door, and I think it’s safe to say that I forget my own name when I see him again. The smiling, freckled face of Hugo Weasley is capable of giving my day meaning, it seems.

He’s smiling one of those soft, boyish Weasley smiles as he looks down at me from his extraordinary height. Images of last night flash before my eyes… him pressing me into the wall and kissing my soul away… stopping in front of our door, wishing me good night… his quiet act of comfort… if there even was one. I know I should feel mortified in the light of the new day, I’m well aware I should at least regret it – but none of those feelings come. I’m looking at him, drinking in his beauty, and the only thing on my mind is still: I want more. I want him.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy,” he greets me in that warm, rumbling voice of his. “I heard you were up and… look, and I’m sorry to bother you – but I’m fairly sure you’d only find my dry bones in one of the rooms if I attempted to find a breakfast parlour in this magnificent house of yours. Would you care to lead the way?”

There’s that adorable tilt of his head and that innocent glint in his sky-blue eyes, and I have to force myself to reply to his request rather than launch myself at that tender, lush mouth and take what should rightfully be mine.

“Of course,” I croak, and in sudden fear that this would soon turn so awkward I would no longer know what to say, I blurt out the first thing on my mind: “Did you rest well?”

Oh… well, that’s that, then. I’ve finally turned geriatric. Well done, Draco Malfoy. Exactly the question to ask your guest who spent half a night harbouring you in his arms. Or maybe didn’t. I guess I will at least find out.

“Never better,” he replies calmly. “I usually have to elongate every bed I get, but not this one. It seems as if it was made for me. And yours was even better,” he says casually. Just as I open the door to the breakfast parlour, he adds as if on second thought: “I always sleep better when I’m sharing.”

“Sharing what?” my son, already sitting behind the table with a glowing Rose, inquires with interest, and I’m fairly certain I’ve turned all shades of the rainbow.

“Bed,” Hugo says matter-of-factly, and greets his sister with a kiss on the cheek. “Mornin’ Rose… you sure seem radiant,” he teases her gently, as she goes Weasley-red and giggles uncharacteristically.

“Shuddup, you troll,” she mumbles, trying to decently finish a piece of her toast and failing miserably. “Speak for yourself. You’re tousled all the way. I wonder how that came about,” she returns the jab, but he just smiles brilliantly and steals a croissant from her plate.

“I had a good night’s sleep, what can I say,” he mumbles around his food, and his eyes dart towards me, because that Weasley offspring _has_ no shame.

“Is that so?” my Scorpius murmurs thoughtfully, and his narrowed eyes won’t leave my flushed face. “It seems Father did as well,” he says slyly. “He keeps smiling into his coffee, and I can’t remember when I last saw him do that. He’s not a morning person, my dad,” he says innocently enough, and looks straight at Hugo as if he is expecting him to confirm or deny such a statement. Oh, I should have disciplined that brat when I still had a chance!

“I wouldn’t know,” Hugo says truthfully with that beautiful smile he has, and just as I begin to relax, he adds casually: “I only held him through half a night.”

I kind of feel slightly faint, if you don’t mind me saying so, while my Scorpius nearly chokes on his tea – and I can’t say I blame him. And while Rose fusses about him, that redheaded menace gets up, completely unperturbed, and suggests calmly:

“It’s time, Mr. Malfoy. Or we’ll be late.”

“Well… yes,” I say rather weakly, because there’s little left to say by way of an explanation – who, if you please, is going to believe me?!

I make a conscious effort not to look straight at Scorpius as I get up stiffly, even though I can still feel his eyes on me, because… oh, I’m the most terrible coward when it comes to my feelings, all right?! And right now, I’m so shell-shocked, I’m definitely not ready for whatever I might find in my son’s eyes. But I should have known better than to think that this would be the end of my ordeal. No. Not with the craziest specimen the Weasley tribe has produced still hanging around. The second I get up, his hand slips into mine, and he leans into me.

“You’re going to have to take me there, you know,” he says softly. “I can’t Apparate until midnight; I won’t be 17 until tomorrow.”

Oh… I guess now I know. Not 17 yet… If only it mattered one bit. Because, you see, with Hugo Weasley holding my hand like it belongs to him, turning my mind into useless mush with that mind-boggling sex-laced scent of his, it doesn’t. I honestly can’t think straight when I’m inhaling his lush, sweet smell like a madman. I know I’m horrible… I know it. But I think… I think he likes me that way.

“Oh… I see,” I tell him in a croaking voice, and I can barely think of what I’m supposed to be doing next. “I suppose you’ve Apparated side-along before… you need to hold on tight. And I need – ” … _you_ … I very nearly tell him when his cheek suddenly brushes against mine, and a second later his arm is around my shoulders, with that silken river of fiery hair teasing the side of my face. Sweet, smitten Merlin, someone stop me; I’m about to jump the boy!

“Like this?” he purrs in my ear as my poor knees turn to jelly.

“Yes… I… I need you to tell me where to take you… us…” I’m babbling incoherently because the proximity of that silken, warm skin, smelling wonderfully of pine soap and night comforts, is driving me seven kinds of mental.

“Just Teddy’s studio,” he murmurs. “I’m guessing you know where that is.”

“Yes… I… hold on,” I finally give up on trying to speak properly, because the warm breath of his mouth near my ear just did me in. In the last moment before we Disapparate, I muster enough courage to look my son in the face, expecting god-knows-what doom, but I find him shaking his head incredulously, his silver eyes big and lit up, and he’s smiling from ear to ear. Yes, dear, your father has finally gone off his rocker.

~

I expect him to let go of me as soon as we Apparate outside the door of Ted’s studio, but the thought apparently never crosses his mind. Instead, he casually presses a tiny kiss into the side of my cheek and murmurs: “Last chance to change your mind…”

Now, how could I, when all I can think about is the maddening promise of his soft, generous lips and how to get more of them?! And then it dawns on me that now I actually could, if I’m expected to do this right. So instead of running away – fast and far, as I should be – I turn my head sideways and look for his mouth hungrily.

“No… I… no,” I tell him, and then I’m in heaven once again when his slick tongue finds me, pressing all my buttons at once, and shamelessly exposing my forbidden fantasies. “I want… this…” I barely have the presence of mind not to say _“you”_ … _“I want you”,_ but I don’t want to lose the fragile pretence that I’m doing this for laughs. I know I’m not fooling anyone; I’m just hopelessly clinging to my last semblance of control, something to fall back to in case this turns out to be a disaster. But I’m desperate, oh, so bloody desperate, to give into him, and no amount of lies can change that.

I barely register when he leans forward to press the doorbell because he never bothers to take his lips off mine, and right now, the outside world simply doesn’t matter. I close my eyes and I let myself be kissed –  thoroughly, inside out, greedily, lovingly, and without remorse, and my whole body is singing with the force of our kissing. I’m afraid to open my eyes again and risk losing this bliss. He’s gentle and invasive all in one, and as much of myself as I give him, he keeps coming back for more, until I want to give him _more_ … I want to give him all he can handle… and still more. Everything. My body is simply tingling with a forceful tide of fiery passion slamming against my flushed skin, and when I feel my nipples getting hard, I know I’m in for it bad.

“Oh, bloody hell…”

Fuck. Lupin. Fuck off, Ted. We’re kissing, can’t you see?! I’m… god, fucking god, do we really need to stop this?! Hugo seems to feel the same. He presses a few more messy, sloppy kisses onto my eager mouth before he reluctantly pulls away, and when I look at him from close up, all bright shiny eyes, tousled hair and full, shiny lips, he looks good enough to eat. Fuck. This… is going to be a long day.

“We’ll have to pick this up later,” he murmurs, and affectionately fixes my hair, which seems to have exploded out of my plait, behind my ear, making me remember my role and how much I love it. So I dutifully pull him back into one last demanding kiss.

“We better,” I say, as gracefully as a man with a hippogriff-sized hard-on can, and he gives me one of those slow, sexy, kneazle-stretching-in-the-sun smiles that makes me want to kiss it off his face. This boy will be the death of me! How am I supposed to keep my hands off him?!

But the redhead is already busy smirking at Ted behind my back, so I suppose that good manners require me to say my greetings as well. The aquamarine-haired young man still hasn’t managed to close his mouth properly by the time I turn around.

“Hey,” Hugo says casually. “I’m back.” And upon seeing Ted’s eyes still going between us incredulously – we’re now merely holding hands rather decently – my redhead adds cheekily: “You might want to close your mouth now. Uncle Charlie says pregnant she-dragons looking to nest find dark caves irresistible.”

Ted does close his mouth with a snap afterwards, but he still looks as if he isn’t quite over the shock.

“I thought it was a prank of sorts,” he says bluntly. “I mean… Aunt Cissy is always complaining he doesn’t even date…”

“Well, _he does_ , apparently,” I say slightly annoyed, because I’m not perfectly comfortable with the fact that my mother discusses my love life with her sister, and, clearly, in front of her sister’s grandson. “I was just waiting for the best,” I tell him as snottily as I can, and this is the first time I see Ted Lupin actually crack an incredulous smile at me.

“I’m not sure you’re completely aware what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he murmurs. “Hugo is… yeah, you’ll find out soon enough. And you…” he turns towards my red-haired companion who happily keeps himself busy by threading my hair through his fingers.

“You’re not even…”

“I will be,” Hugo interrupts him calmly. “You know very well that in a few hours’ time, I can do what I damn well please – there’s a party and all, and I believe you’re invited. Besides, I can’t recall it ever bothered you before,” he points out, and Ted just huffs.

“Touché,” he agrees grudgingly. “I couldn’t wait until you were of age. You’re too good a model to pass up. Only… do your parents know?”

“Well, as much as they know about _this_ arrangement of ours,” Hermione Granger’s son smirks pointedly, and it makes me kind of proud to see my Slytherin boy beating the Hufflepuff with his own weapon.

“Besides, it won’t matter after today,” the redhead shrugs. “I’m going home after this, and I’ll let my family know. It will give Dad a week in St. Mungo’s to be sure, but in the end, he’ll come to terms with it. He’s through the initial shock already; Rose made sure of that. Draco won’t be the first Malfoy becoming a part of the family.”

“So… you’re _actually_ serious?” Ted says with such disbelief in his voice that it burns me up. Why on Salazar’s perverted earth would that be such a preposterous idea?! There are far worse couples out there! Just look at… look at… well, I’m sure there are some! But while I’m still busy fuming, Hugo merely shoots Ted one of those sweet, boyish smiles of his, and replies calmly:

“I’m serious enough to bring him here, am I not?” And I kind of stop breathing at those words because they sound so _sincere_. Does he really mean it? He can’t! If only…

“Draco is a great lover…” – time for me to flush from head to toe – “... of art,” the flame-haired devil finishes his sentence with an adorable cheeky grin and an innocent blink, and I’ll have you know that boy owes me an orgasm or two! “I wouldn’t bring just anyone, but he’s… important.”

“Is that how you got together, then?” Ted suddenly wants to know curiously. “Because of the photo session? Because of that picture – …”

“No!” I all but bark out, making the indiscreet bohemian idiot jump. But you see, I’m so very mortified and desperate to stop him from spilling my secret that I don’t even care about how I do it. He can’t let Hugo know what a pervert I am… he can’t!

“Rose introduced him… a while ago and I… he’s so… we… we got together soon after,” I say miserably, none too eager to disclose any of the details. Merlin’s half-witted dog, but this is one half-baked story! I was always taught that half-truths were the best decoy there was, but this explanation has holes the size of Hogwarts in it! Any time now, Lupin will –

“He loved the pictures you made of me. He called them exceptional,” Hugo says softly. “Rose let it slip that it was me in them, so I thought I’d let him come… I want him here, Teddy. There won’t be any photo shoot today if he’s not allowed.”

Wow, this Weasley of mine is… he’s definitely Granger’s son. Bossy gorgeous little creature. I like them bossy; it makes my knees weak and my blood boil.

“I’ve already said _yes_ , haven’t I?” Ted murmurs grumpily, and I’m guessing he doesn’t like to be bossed around by a 16-year-old and boxed into a corner. “He can stay as long as he’s not too distracting. Come on in, then, we haven’t got all day. It is only April, and this lovely light won’t last forever – and I hate using artificial light.”

In response, Hugo’s face simply explodes in a beautiful, radiant smile, and I’m instantly jealous that I wasn’t the cause of it.

“Thanks, mate, I won’t forget it,” he says warmly, and unexpectedly leans into me and captures my mouth. Oh, Merlin, yesss! So, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was the cause of it. I can’t imagine he’s faking it, faking… this. Us. Our kissing… That hungry, greedy passion that sets my skin on fire every time his mouth takes my breath away. He can’t be. He’ll leave me heartbroken.

“Merlin, Hugh… I told you to come in, not to make him melt all over my stairs,” Ted mumbles, sounding exasperated, and I know that we should stop, pull apart, and follow his invitation, because we came here to… do something… take pictures… whatever. Only, nothing else matters when I’m drinking my long-denied fantasies from his sensual mouth, and once again, he has to be the one to pull away, because I just… can’t.

“Be right back,” he murmurs, and looks at Ted: “Clothes off?”

And when Ted only nods, still in a haze, my redheaded wonder blows me a kiss and disappears into the back of the studio. I’m interested in looking at anything and anyone other than Ted, so I turn around and pretend to be interested in the spacious studio, flooded with light from the whole wall of French windows. But I can’t escape what’s coming; not really.

“Bloody hell,” Ted blurts out as soon as Hugo is gone, and he sounds shell-shocked. “You’re really into him, aren’t you?!”

“Yes,” I turn towards him, and I surprise myself with how proud I sound. “Yes, I believe I truly am,” I add more softly, and only now does it really strike me how much I want to keep this… this _illusion_ we’ve created. What the hell am I doing?! How could I have fallen for a mere boy so fast and so hard?!

“Hugo is a very special person,” Ted says unexpectedly. “He does what he pleases and doesn’t take anyone’s opinion on that. Even as a child…” he shakes head and smiles. “I reckon if you’re with him, you might _think_ it’s you who’s made the choice, but I assure you – it’s not. You could yearn all you liked – and he wouldn’t give you a second glance if he wasn’t interested. And seeing how eager you were, cousin, to conceal the fact that you own a _particular picture_ ,” he lowers his voice – bless his soul! – “I imagine you might even feel a bit guilty about falling for a boy as young as him. Well… don’t be.”

I don’t know if I’m more mortified by the fact that he knows about me being the recipient of his unique piece of art, or more shocked by the curious advice he’s giving me. Surely it’s not normal for a middle-aged man to be holding hands – and more! – with a boy who’s not even of age!

“I’ve witnessed Hugo turn down offers from people twice your age – and half your age. Everyone and their mother is on him when we go clubbing; you see how he looks – pure sex on endless legs. But age, for one, makes no difference whatsoever to him,” Ted tells me quietly. “I don’t really know what makes a difference, to be honest. For him, it’s clearly not about looks, money, or anything I can put my finger on, and if you asked him about it, he’d just shrug and tell you _“they needed it”_. He usually ends up picking the least likely person in the room and disappears with them for the night. According to numerous rather informative encounters, he’s an animal in bed, but those casual flings are all he needs. Or so I thought. Until this moment I’ve never seen him hold hands with anyone outside the club, and I’ve never seen him kiss anyone the way he kissed you. I wonder…”

“Teddy, I’m ready.”

And I promptly forget all those millions of questions I was going to ask Ted. Hugo’s a… oh, my… he’s just a walking, talking, sex-scented piece of art, isn’t he?! He’s once again wearing a towel around his narrow hips, but he must have put some sort of liquid on his body because the creamy skin now seems to emit a pristine, pearly glow, and he looks… untouchable and… utterly fuckable. His glossy red hair is caught in a thick, loose plait, with a few shorter strands escaping and they’re coiling around his neck lovingly. He’s all endless, muscled legs, sculpted torso with pretty pink nipples, drawing my eyes towards them like magnets, and the only thing on him, other than a towel, is his silver necklace with a serpent pendant. He’s to die for.

“Bloody hell, Hugh… I always forget what a fucking pagan god you are,” Ted murmurs, and if my simmering jealousy was a whip, the artistic idiot would end up lashed and burned right now, cousin or not! “Lucky thing Jamie doesn’t know, or he’d never let me spend three seconds alone with you. That’s one jealous Potter! Good thing you brought this one with you; that should keep me out of trouble should he ever find out!”

“Jamie is half a Weasley, he can’t help himself,” Hugo explains with a lopsided grin, before he casually slips next to me and kisses me senseless. “None of us can,” he murmurs into my mouth, and I’m already drowning in the wonderful almond smell of his skin and fresh-cherry taste of his demanding mouth. He pulls me close, and I can feel him… his body heat, the tense, solid muscles… and the hardness between his legs pressing into me… _ohmyfuckinggod_ … and in an instant I’m hopelessly, desperately needy…

“We really… shouldn’t…” I gasp in a last miserable attempt to save my dignity, but Hugo isn’t listening; his hand is in my hair, holding me tight, kissing my breath and my sanity away, making the world spin and my knees weak.

“Fuck… don’t stop,” I hear Ted’s breathless voice coming from another universe, and I want to shout, and hex, and hurt him when Hugo pulls away as if in defiance.

“Why?” he wants to know. He’s panting, with eyes alight like blue fire, and I just want to get on with it, fuck the photo session, fuck everything, I want this… him… fuck him… now.

“Because you two… you two are the fucking hottest thing on the planet… and I want to make this a shot of you two. Both. Together.”

I’m not entirely sure I’m even hearing this right… but Hugo just tilts his head as he always does when he’s studying someone, and Lupin starts spilling as if he was just fed Veritaserum.

“It’ll be gorgeous, trust me. And you don’t have to take any of your clothes off if you don’t want to, Draco. Even Hugo… it’s fine the way it is, just… We’ll play by your rules… we don’t even have to put a single photo from today on public display if you don’t like it… or we could conceal your faces or something, just… I’d really like this opportunity to shoot a couple. I’ve never done it, I’ve never had a couple doing this, and you two are… like this, you’re irresistible.”

Merlin, I…

“Your call,” Hugo says softly, and kisses the corner of my mouth gently… and then in the other one… and across the cheek all the way up to my ear, where he snuggles against me.

“I already told him he doesn’t need to make my next photo session anonymous, I’ll be of age once the photos are on display,” he whispers, while turning my brain into a mush with his tenderness. “So this is entirely up to you. Do you want a memory of this… us?”

 _No, no, no_ – of course my answer to this crazy, impossible idea is “no”, once and forever – only it somehow doesn’t want to come out of my panting mouth as Hugo’s lips mark my neck gently, his tongue licking stripes of ecstasy across my tender skin, sending shots of heat up and down my body…

“Yes – … fuck… all right, then…”

Oh, god, I’m so fucking doomed…

“Good… great… excellent,” Hugo murmurs, “I _so_ want a memory of this… if only for my eyes alone… And you, Teddy Lupin, you turn that fucking clicking sound on your camera _off_ or this isn’t happening!”

“Done,” Ted says, his voice strangely nervous.

“You get what you get, Ted… you’ll know when it’s enough.”

“Got it,” Lupin says in a voice trembling with anticipation. But even if he didn’t, I’ve learned since that Hugo has a way of getting things done his way. And right now… right now there’s a predatory gleam in his eyes that makes him look as if he’s ready to do me. Do me good and proper. I can’t bloody wait.

“Ready, gorgeous? Let’s show the world what we’re made of…”

He tilts my head upwards gently, and I swear that when he takes charge so casually, as if it’s rightfully his, I’m just a puppet in his hands. For a long, wondrous moment he only stares down my eyes, as if trying to catch a glimpse of my soul, and I’m completely hypnotised by the blue stars in his eyes. Then he slowly captures my lips in our most tender, sensual kiss to date… and it just goes on and on until I can feel my chest expand and the shackles around my heart crack one by one. It’s is unbearable… absolutely fucking scary… and… painfully, breathtaking beautiful. I never knew I needed to be kissed like that.

“Say that you’re mine,” he whispers feverishly into my mouth, and I just moan in response, unable to think of the words… until only one trickles in: “Yours…”

“I love kissing you… I love hearing you go breathless… gasp and moan… I love ruining your composure, your perfection… I love lighting a fire in those exquisite silver eyes of yours…” he whispers, kissing me stupid and defenceless and tasting like more, please, more… “Can you guess what else I love?” he whispers, before he nibbles on my earlobe gently and moves down my neck. And I’m an utter, absolute wreck. I dig my fingers deeply into that silken mass of fiery hair and hold on for dear life, trying my best not to completely embarrass myself by moaning like a bitch in heat and coming into my pants like a randy teenager.

“I love this… this graceful, pale, aristocratic neck of yours… just calling out to me to be worshipped… and marked. And this little pulse-point… this one… this very one, where the life inside of you beats through the transparent skin… I love this…” He’s driving me mad by licking me slowly where I’m most vulnerable, and then nibbling at my aroused flesh and sucking on my sensitive skin to the edge of pain, just the way I love it, the way it makes me yelp and blurt out the torn, meaningless rubbish that comes with extreme arousal.

And then he moves away from me without a warning, and I barely bite back a whimper. I’m just standing there, my breath hitching to high-heaven, staring up into his hypnotic eyes, begging silently… and then his long fingers slide down the line of buttons on my shirt slowly, lighting my skin on fire as they go, and he whispers: “May I?”

Somehow, asking permission from me when he’s so clearly in control feels surreal, as if for a mere moment he let me switch our roles, and I feel the surge of my old power in me when I nod in quiet agreement. When his fingers tackle the first tiny mother-of-pearl button, his eyes focus on it and I have a unique chance to observe the obscene length of his eyelashes throwing soft shadows across his cheeks. I feel my skin shiver under the sweet, warm breath escaping through his luscious mouth, and I can barely stop myself from launching at it and biting into tender flesh. With a spray of golden freckles across the arch of his nose, and those ice-blue eyes glowing through the thick fan of his auburn eyelashes, he’s too beautiful for words.

I feel his fingers move on to the next button, and he unexpectedly looks into my eyes as if he wanted to share the experience with me. And I can’t describe the sudden surge of old magic between us… it is like a primal pull that twists my insides and makes every fibre of my being echo with the knowledge that I found the one…

“You felt that?!” he wants to know hastily, demandingly, and when his big fists close around the sides of my shirt, pulling me even closer, I can only nod – my throat is too tight to talk, and I’m dizzy with want. Owning this young man suddenly becomes of the utmost importance. His fingers fumbling with the buttons move no faster, though, and I can barely keep back my trembling every time one precious little pearl comes undone, and those warm calloused digits brush against the prickly skin of my abdomen, all too unused to the intimate touch.

Finally, my expensive custom-made shirt is undone, parted at the middle, and I can no longer hide my heaving chest and flushed, rosy skin. I look and feel like a statue come to life. Hugo Weasley woke me from the dead and gave me a chance to live, truly live, breathe, and taste the world of a thousand colours. His fingers start a slow route at the little pit between my collarbones and they slide slowly down the centre of my body, waking up my nerve endings as they go. My nipples are nothing but pebbles, hard, tense, and waiting to burst under their first touch. By the time he reaches my navel, my skin is on fire.

“I felt it, too…” he whispers, as if in a trance. “So beautiful…”

And then he drops to his knees and slowly rubs his face across my torso with his eyes closed, as if inhaling my scent. His silken hair teases my sensitised skin maddeningly, and this time, I cannot hold back an agonised whimper. He’s the stuff of poetry when he’s down on his knees. My rock-solid cock, hot and heavy and still very much caught in my pants, is pressed against the curve between his neck and shoulder, and it’s getting it’s own special treatment every time he rolls his head from left to right. I’m beyond the point of indecency, and leaking hard.

Finally, I cannot take the sweet torture a moment longer. I lean down, capture his beautiful face in my hands, and kiss him for all I’m worth. There are years of hopeless waiting, pent-up frustration and chest-crushing yearning in that kiss, _I am in it_ , the whole of me, my concealed hopes, my neglected dreams, my lonely soul, desperate for a companion. And when he sighs and moans my name straight into the kiss – _“Draco…”_ – so softly and wistfully the way no one’s ever done before, that’s… that’s it for me. I’m ready to surrender.

His thumbs find my nipples, and their roughness is something I can’t get enough of. My sensitive nubs seem to bloom under his touch; I see them grow flushed and turn dark pink with the rest of me, and then he snaps at one playfully with those perfect white teeth… and I yelp. Just seeing him roll it in his mouth under that merciless tongue, while the other tender bud is being punished under his skilled fingers, drives my hips forward, and before I know it, they’re undulating in a rhythm I can’t stop. I’m going to come in my pants, just like I did yesterday, and even the thought that this time I have a witness cannot stop me. Somehow, that makes it even hotter - incredibly so.

His fingers finally let go of my abused nipples, making them stand at attention begging for more, and those giant, warm hands slide down the sides of my body, fondling me, marking me, owning me. He kisses me just under my ribs, his sweet devilish tongue paints a wet trail all the way down to my navel, and then he whispers:

“Would you like some help with that…” And he turns his head and slowly rubs his cheek down the length of the obscene bulge in my tented Italian trousers. _Fuckohshitfuck_ … Would I ever…! I can’t stop a deep, guttural moan that seems to escape me from the very bottom of my starved libido, and I see him crack one of those dreamy, winning smiles before his teeth snap at one of the laces of my trousers, and he pulls at it viciously. The next thing I know, his tongue catches a loose lace and he drags it through his mouth in the world’s most obscene, sexy manner and I realise that Hugo Weasley is skilled enough to free my cock with his mouth alone. His tongue is now licking up my laces, undoing them one by one, and my panting is nothing but a long unbroken line of needy, animalistic huffs because I want this so bloody much my cock is going to _burn a fucking hole_ into those fucked-up, too tightly laced pants that allow him to toy with me so fucking much.

But finally, I feel the pressure on my cock ease as I’m free of the fabric, and as soon as the cooler air hits me, the beloved slick tongue wraps around me, and I cry out at the unbearable feeling.

“No underwear… you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Mr. Malfoy…” he murmurs softly, but somehow it comes out so hair-raising, dark, and predatory that I nearly faint in the sweet expectation of more… there has to be more… I feel my fingers slip into the silken river of his fiery hair, and holding on tight feels like the only sort of control I have left.

“Please… now…” I hear my own desperate whisper, and I can’t remember the last time I begged so shamelessly. “Please, Hugo… need… so much…”

“Oh, I know just how much…” he whispers. He closes his eyes, and then Heaven comes upon me in its true form, and I’m lost and reborn inside Hugo Weasley’s obliging mouth. I fuck it with all I’ve got. There’s no thought of going slow, holding back, making it bearable for him. I know he can take it. That hot, delectable cavern takes me in, gladly, eagerly, the whole of me, devouring my root and making me stutter a blasphemous string of obscenities with no reservations and no shame… I know none while that evil, slick tongue from hell works its magic across my bursting flesh… licking me insane… swirling across my most sensitive spots and sucking my fucking brains out… _teasing, teasing, teasing_ until the meaning of my whole fucking existence culminates in finding release, riding, and fucking and ruining that mouth, chasing something no one’s ever been able to give me in all my life. And then, I find it… oh, yes, I do.

He’s driven me to the very edge of coming, I can already feel my load pooling at the bottom of my balls. They’re so heavy they fucking hurt, and I just _know_ that this is going to be glorious. But then he lets me slip out, and I can’t help releasing a loud _“fuck, Hugo”_ and a helpless whimper, and his eyes open. His fingers slip towards the knot in his towel, and the sight stops my very breath. Another _“fuck… Hugo…”_  leaves my mouth, but it’s different than the first one. My voice is choked and trembling, and the single, reverent thought tangled in my fogged brain is: “ _ohmygod_ … _I want that cock inside me”_. From the background of auburn pubic hair that gorgeous, swollen shaft of his stands proudly, long and hard and engorged with juices, oozing precome and looking utterly menacing in its purple glory – and I nearly come from that sight alone. I _love_ big cocks, I love… oh, my fucking god, what has he done to me?!

He catches the tip of my shaft with his tender, swollen lips, and he’s the very image of debauchery when he flicks his tongue across my slit, feeding on my leaking cock and my wanton, unabashed moan.

“I have to…” he whispers as his tongue once more swirls around the tip of my cock, collecting the pearly drops, and my whole body trembles with savage desire to fuck that young mouth again. “I want to touch myself so badly… Will you watch?”

Oh, god…

“Yessss!” I shout. “Please… I… _ohgodfuck_ … I really want to…” I blurt out, not willing to leave any room for misinterpretation.

“For you,” he whispers and kisses the bursting, heavy tip of my shaft once more, lovingly, sucking lightly, eliciting another breathless _“Please…”_ and then his hand closes around the girth of his cock, those long fingers flying across the swollen flesh, making it look as if he’s milking himself, and I’m all yelps and breathless hissed obscenities when I’m once again allowed access, and I plunge into my doom in that decadent mouth. Every muscle in my arse hurts from pounding so fast and hard into the abused little spot of heaven between his lips, but I can no longer stop myself. Because this… I’m never going to have this again. The sight of his sky-blue eyes, dilated and alert, watching my face in reverence, those plush lips, tender from my roughness, stretched around my cock, his fiery hair floating around him like an enchanted halo, his hand a blur on his cock… I… I…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuckGodyes_ , Hugo!”

I feel his arm around my waist in the fraction of a moment before I explode inside him. Everything goes black, and my body seems to tear in ecstasy… I’m catapulted across space and time… and nothing comes back for the longest time… I feel Hugo’s warm mouth sucking every last drop eagerly, hungrily, and somehow, that adds to my bliss… even in another reality, it makes me feel content that he doesn’t let go. Oh, I’m so bloody weightless and happy… so fucking excruciatingly happy that it hurts… I feel fulfilled. For the first time in my long, pointless life, I feel as if it hasn’t all been for nothing; as if I have no better place to be.

“Bloody hell, Hugh… Let me just catch this…” I hear shaky Ted’s voice coming as if through a haze from another reality, but I can barely register it. A moment later, I feel the warm body snuggle against me, the incredibly erotic scent hits me, and I moan needily in my post-coital bliss. Hugo is here and he’s all I need. He’s nuzzling at the side of my face, kissing down my neck and whispering little sweet nothings in my ear.

“Jesus… you have to let me fuck you once… you’re so fucking beautiful it hurts… Was it good for you, babe?... Oh, I bet it was… you look like it was, gorgeous…”

And it’s those words, said in a voice that’s just a bit desperate, that wake me up and bring me back across the Universe of Wonderful back to my equally wonderful reality. I find myself collapsed against the wall I was leaning on because my knees apparently melted under me, and Hugo is wrapped around me tightly, anchoring me, protecting me, owning me. I inhale and fill my lungs with his rich, daring scent, like delicious hot chocolate with a wisp of chilli. I find him completely irresistible.

“I want to make you come,” are the first words out of my mouth, and I don’t know if I whispered them pleadingly or simply demanded it. It’s the one thing on my mind. The one thing that could make this better. I see his breath hitch and his eyes glow with wild blue intensity, and it’s suddenly perfectly clear to me that I’m not letting him walk out of my life before I have a full taste of him.

“Surely not here,” he murmurs into my mouth between two hungry kisses. “You know what I want… A blow-job alone won’t do it,” he says in a low, dangerous voice. “I want you all the way. I won’t settle for less.”

“Fuck, yessss…” Oh, bloody hell, Ted…

“Teddy… – ” Hugo says with a warning in his voice, but the now-scarlet-haired man seems too exhilarated to care.

“ _Ohmyfuckinggod_ , that was so fucking gorgeous, you have no idea!” Ted blurts out, as if he can’t believe his own luck. “The footage I got, Hugh… I can’t use half of it, of course, it’s… oh, god, I think there must be laws against this… but it was so bloody… scorching… hot – bloody hell, I have no words! And you can keep that bit, the whole fucking lot - that’s for your eyes only, but the ones with his face up close, enjoying the experience so much… and yours… that expression of pure delight... and the light… fuck, Hugh… the whole thing! You’ve got to let me have more, you’ve got to! I swear I’ll only put the decent ones on display, but you’ve got to…”

“Ted – ”

“You can keep all the money I make off them, honestly, I don’t care! This is not about money for me, not anymore. I’ve got enough. I’m just… I _need_ to make more of those photos; it would be a sin not to show the world the magic you’re made of…”

“Merlin, man… keep your pants on,” Hugo mumbles, sounding part shocked part regretful. “You know I’d let you if it was only down to me – but I won’t drag him into this. He’s got too much to lose. Should anyone recognise him…”

Now, hold it right there, blue eyes! Last time I let someone else make my decisions for me, I ended up in the Dark Lord’s embrace, thank you very much! You see, I happen to _love_ erotic photography. Call it a fetish if you like, but that was what made up most of my sex life for the longest time, and perhaps I’m a little bit… addicted. I know I’m acting mad – or maybe this is just me now, head-over-heels smitten and desperate for more – but I’m about to take a stand I couldn’t have imagined 24 hours ago, when my world hadn’t yet collided with one crazy-wonderful Hugo Weasley.

“Show me one,” I interrupt, startling them both. “Show me one of our pictures.”

Judging by the speed with which Ted flips through his camera shots, I can see how badly he really wants this.

“There,” he says in a few seconds. “This one. Just look.”

He approaches, and strangely enough, I’m not self-conscious about my nudity; he’s seen all there is to see of me already. But apparently he’s also seen a side of me I never saw myself.

There’s nothing indecent in the picture… yet it is so shockingly intimate I can’t stop staring. We’re kissing. My parted shirt only allows for a hint of my torso, and Hugo’s already on his knees, all long muscles, endless neck, and his head tilted upward to meet mine in a kiss. The red plait of his hair across his magnificent back is feeding the red dragon, and his face is tilted upwards, with the daylight in the room making it appear as if it’s bathing in celestial light. His eyes are closed as if he’s totally immersed in the experience – and he’s all silken, dark eyelashes throwing long, subtle shades against the milky skin, sun-kissed freckles making him look as young as he is, and those full, mesmerising half-open lips on mine. And I’m…

I’ve never seen myself so open and vulnerable. I never knew I could be. I’m completely into the kiss, anyone can tell. _Devoted_ is the one word that comes to mind. There’s a softness to my features that I’ve never seen before, and I look as if I’m having a mystical experience with my ginger-haired god. The picture is beyond beautiful. Breathtaking… we are. It makes my heart ache… just like the thought that this is my one chance at this, that I will never have this sublime illusion again.

 _‘I’m going home after this’,_ I hear his voice in my head, and only now I’m beginning to register what it all means. There is no “us” outside this studio – and this, here, is all there is. And he is so beautiful, so completely _mine_ right now, that a crazy, desperate decision flies out of my bewitched mouth before I can stop it.

“You can have more…”

And the blue eyes go wide.

“No… Draco, don’t. You’ll be risking everything… If someone recognises you…”

“Fuck them. I’m a Malfoy. I won’t bow to anyone’s opinion.”

I say that in the same moment when Ted says: “There’s no need for that. Look.”

We both turn out in the direction where his hand is pointing, and after Ted makes a few complex wand-movements, the picture of us is projected from the camera to the wall.

“Bloody hell…” Hugo breathes, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. We’re majestic like this. There is such a lifelike quality to the picture that I have problems telling my brain that this is the real me, and the picture on the wall, still moving and kissing gently, is merely a beautiful illusion.

“Watch,” Ted commands us, and flicks his wand, muttering a quiet incantation. The image of me blurs slightly, as if somehow the edges were covered in a layer of watercolour, and I know with certainty that no one – unless they expected me to be there – would be able to identify me now. The picture just developed a strange, nostalgic, wistful quality, as if Hugo was kissing a man from a dream.

“Welcome to the art of magical photography,” Ted says quietly. “I can do this and more. I’ll do anything you ask of me, just for the chance to use some of the pictures I take today. I’ll be invisible; you won’t know I’m here. Anything. Because you two are magic together. I will be the first one to admit that I thought that you two… being an item, was just a giant joke, a prank of sorts, perhaps something to drive Ron crazy… but not anymore. I’ve never seen… I never could have imagined two people sharing something like this. And something like this needs to be made eternal.”

He needn’t bother convincing me. I am already bought and sold, and on that boat, ready to sail. But Hugo still has that strange, thoughtful expression on his face, and I know he still needed a little nudge. So I bury my hand in his warm hair and pull him closer.

“Make love to me,” I whisper. “Please.”

He growls and whimpers all in one, and the sound alone nearly makes me come undone.

“You are… absolutely… fucking crazy, Malfoy,” he grunts, and then buries his head in my neck and bites me, hard, not even pretending this isn’t what it is: branding, owning, claiming. My yelp dissolves into a long, deep moan that comes from somewhere in the darkest pit of my chest, as if years of denial and secrets are being purged by the light that is the love of one Hugo Weasley. I can nearly feel my heart expanding and reaching out to that light.

“ _OhGodyes_ , here… I need to catch this… you need to go here… Hugo…”

Fucking Ted. Why doesn’t he disappear already?! I’m only doing this here because this might be my last chance at making some memories with Hugo before he leaves me behind. Can’t he understand that?! Why doesn’t that idiot let us be?!

And then I feel myself picked up like the boneless rag doll that I am, transported hurriedly across the room, and the next thing I know, my body is lowered down into silken black sheets, and I sigh happily, enjoying the experience with every sense. When I’m as naked as he is, a moment later, Hugo comes at me with his delicious mouth. The experience is pure ecstasy. It only takes a few long moments of desperate, starved kissing to blur my vision, and I know of nothing but him anymore.

“Mine,” he growls quietly, dangerously, making the hairs raise all over my body as he travels down my neck and shoulders with his unforgiving mouth. “Mine, mine, mine… mine. Don’t forget.”

I don’t say it right away because I don’t think I’ve got any sanity left in me to reply. His hard, rough kisses, leaving marks all over my bristling skin, are something I never knew I needed until this moment. It takes a weapon as delicately tuned to my defences as my fierce lover’s branding mouth to break under the shell I’ve been building for decades – but I quickly learn that my armour is no match for the powerful love magic of Hugo Weasley.

“Yours…” I finally breathe when I feel his luscious lips travel across the exposed expanse of my neck and the sweet, warm breath teases the shell of my ear. He digs his head into the sensitive spot just underneath, and as soon as the tender tongue flicks across it slowly, making my toes curl, the tension, that dreadful urge to recognise that I’m being owned, becomes unbearable.

“Fuck me… take me apart… now… I need now…”

I have no control over the gibberish that is coming out of my mouth, because my body is no longer my own, it belongs to its wild, redheaded master, and it begs to yield.

“That’s how I love you,” he murmurs, his deep, sensual voice making me shiver along with his words. “I love it when you’re asking for it… when you can no longer do without… How much do you want it, my beautiful blond god? How much can you take, my sweet little beggar?”

“Everything,” I whisper with a tremor in my voice, and he smiles at me with challenge and delight before he lowers his fiery head onto my chest.

“Let’s see, gorgeous,” he murmurs, and a moment later, one of my nipples is in his mouth. He flicks over it with his tongue, over and over again, and then sucks deeply. It’s just on the edge of being painful and I moan like a whore. My body jerks towards him as if I wanted to merge with him, but his large hands pin me down and my skin seems to bloom to life under their powerful, demanding grip. I’m responding to the slightest touch of his fingertips like a sensitive instrument, and Hugo Weasley certainly knows how to play me. When his generous mouth greedily finds the other erect little peak, I’m already begging for it.

“Please, Hugo, _pleasepleaseplease_ …”

His mouth is upon mine in the blink of an eye, and I moan my surrender straight into its sweetness. Even if I wasn’t hopelessly smitten with the boy, I’d still be in love with the way he kisses.  

“You only need to ask, my king…” he whispers softly into my mouth, and the combination of ferocious hunger and unbelievable tenderness I can see in his magical blue orbs from so close up proves to be my undoing.

“I love you,” I blurt out helplessly, and when I see his blue eyes go wide, I’m not even sorry. I might be pathetic, I might be looking for heartbreak, but this – now, here – is all the magic I have, and I might never get a moment more priceless than this one. I’ve never spoken of love to anyone. Not my parents, not even my son, though I hope to God they know. There seemed to be a barrier in my chest, choking me whenever I was about to say the word, so it never came. Yet here I am, staring in the universe of starlit blue that is Hugo Weasley’s eyes and _I cannot stop_ myself from saying how he makes me feel. I need to, or my own heart with implode and bury me.

“I love you,” I repeat more quietly, fiercely, feeling my chest heave as if some tight knot suffocating me has come undone, and the emotions flooding from the dark pit inside me are terrible and cannot be held back. My vision goes blurry, and I feel the wetness on my cheeks before I realise what it is, but my redheaded angel leans down and kisses off the teardrops one by one as they keep coming, and it’s the most intimate, the most singularly erotic thing anyone’s ever done for me.

“Hugo…” I sigh his name in a shaky voice, and I cannot get enough of his presence. “Hugo, please…”

“Show me,” he whispers feverishly, his mouth tasting salty with my tears, and I love the lingering bitterness on his lips even more than I loved their sweetness. “Show me how you love me… make me see.”

I bury my fingers into his hair then, his beautiful fiery hair, and I launch myself at him with no reservations. I don’t let myself be kissed anymore. I’m the one doing the kissing, because… because I’m Draco fucking Malfoy, and I’ve never been in love before… and fuck me to hell and back if I’m not going to make the best of it now that I am. I can tell he likes it. He likes my attempt at taking over, he likes the fight, the challenge, my urge to get him underneath me, and he laughs with his golden laughter when he lets me roll him over.  

“Feisty,” he murmurs, when I assault his neck and cover it in a thousand kisses. And once I start, I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop tasting him – I swear I’m addicted to his manly musk – and I keep finding those adorable boyish freckles in the most unexpected places. Flaming hair spilling against the silken black sheets, his unbelievable body sparkling like sun-kissed virgin snow – he’s so beautiful it hurts.

“You are… a living art form… Hugo Weasley,” I stutter as I kiss my way down his stunning sculpted torso to his navel and brush my cheek gently against the gorgeous fat cock waiting for me like the ultimate prize. He lets out a small strained mewl, and I like it, so I do it again; I brush my other cheek against it, and I look into his eyes only to find his pupils fully dilated. He’s biting tensely at his lower lip as if he’s afraid to ruin my little game, so I give him some more. It’s not like I could stop.

I lick up and down his cock slowly, feeding my senses, admiring, reminding myself how much I like them big enough to barely fit, and he hisses a breathless curse at me along with my name – and nothing could fire me up more. I take him in hand and run my fingers up and down that monster girth experimentally, as if in reverence. And it feels like a mystical act of worship when, a moment later, I finally take him in my mouth and feel his hot, bursting flesh pulsate with juices against its slick walls. Oh, god… I’m a damn fool, that’s what I am; how could I have ever given this up?! How could I forget how much I loved this?! Or perhaps I never loved it the way I love it now?

I moan around his cock, loving the feeling of my lips stretched tightly around his shaft, loving the sensation of the slippery, naked head of his cock hitting the roof of my mouth, and him making those fucking desperate, fucking needy sounds as I work him. I haven’t done this in a while… years. But I can no longer imagine why I was foolish enough to deny myself the pleasure. I feel my own shaft hard and heavy against the silken sheets, and I can’t stop myself from rutting against the smooth fabric. I’m going to come as I suck him, if I’m lucky. But for a moment, I’d forgotten that I’m not running this game.

He pulls out of my mouth suddenly and with such ease that there can be no doubt where the true power resides. Before I can feel disappointed, he pulls me up his body, launches at my mouth and hisses in between two mind-boggling kisses:

“I want to fuck you. You need to let me fuck you. I want to bury my cock so far up in your arse you’ll feel me explode in your mouth, you beautiful… decadent… blond bastard.”

 _Ohgodohgodohgod_ … how did he know? How on Merlin’s horny Earth did he guess that dirty talk does it for me?! I am a total man-whore for a man with filthy mouth… and if that man is a boy… and that pretty, damaged mouth was so innocent-looking… My cock is leaking into the sheets at this very thought.

“Now!” I moan without pretence, without any hope of stopping this and stealing more time. I need to be pounded into a screaming mess so much, I’m nearly delirious with urgency. It’s been so fucking long I’m practically gagging for it, and when his beautiful fiery head disappears between my legs, I nearly faint at the divine sight. His fingers gently explore and stretch the tender, sensitive flesh down there, and the feeling is… oh, god, it’s heavenly. In fact, it feels so bloody… impossibly… _good_ that I might come from  this sensation alone… and my body is so starved for attention, I might not be able to stop it. But luckily, he must have felt it at some point.

As soon as his tender tongue sweeps across my hole, sending sparks along my nerves, his giant hand wraps around the base of my cock and squeezes tightly, just enough to stop me from shooting my load. The most unstoppable, animalistic sounds escape me as I’m pushing my shaft through the living cock ring made of his fingers, and he tongue-fucks my hole until I’m desperate, on fire, and begging with frantic, broken pleas to be filled.

“No touching,” he whispers, when he stops driving me crazy for long enough to summon the lube, and I whine wantonly because I want to, I need to…

Finally – god, fucking finally! – his slick, long fingers fill me up, one by one, and the burn that inevitably comes with them is enough that he no longer has to control my cock. Merlinfuck, he’s got big fingers… They’re doing a splendid job stretching me, and yet they’re no match for his cock. The bloody thing is majestic. I can’t bloody wait, I can’t bloody… One of his adept fingers skilfully brushes at that bundle of nerves inside of me, and my hips just shoot off the bed as I cry out helplessly. And that’s when I feel him at my entrance.

“I’m going to feed my cock to your hole now, love. It looks so hungry… and empty… and I can’t bloody wait any longer… you’re too fucking gorgeous to resist…” he whispers with tension in his voice, and I just dig my fingers in his hair and pull him down onto my mouth forcefully, giving my quiet, fierce approval.

All the breath is knocked out of me when I feel the tip of his cock breaching my hole, slowly, yet unrelenting. It sets all my nerve endings on fire to have him fill me. He’s big… impossibly big… he’s never going to fit… until he does, and I’ve never been so entirely full of cock. I’m stretched enough to break and breathing deeply, shakily, brushing against the subtle edge between pain and mindless ecstasy. I’m staring up into the blue eyes of my god, trying desperately to buy time to savour this moment fully, to fill my senses with his beauty, his addictive sex-laced smell, his incredible warm presence.

“Please…” he whispers with urgency as he leans down to capture my mouth hungrily. His white teeth capture my lower lip, and the aphrodisiac taste of his mouth makes the desire to be fucked thoroughly, blindly, and into the mattress too fucking unbearable.

“Move…” I whisper raggedly, too wrecked and on edge for anything more complex than the most basic urge I feel. “Move, move, move, _bloodymovepleasemove!_ ”

“Oh, god, thank fuck!” he blurts out with fire and relief in his voice, and when he shoves inside me, brutally, paying no heed to my tense frame, I lose every last one of my marbles.

“Fuck… more… harder… yesssss, _ohgodyes_ … please… _ohfuckthere_ … god, yes, there… don’t stop, don’t bloody stop…”

I never knew I could beg like that, but then again I never knew anyone that could take me apart like that. I’ve had lovers, insignificant, nameless ones, when the urge to be myself, the person I was under all that fancy perfectly polished rubbish, became too much to bear, but I’ve never had this… Hugo. It’s like I’ve had no one before him… like this is my first time. Because he fucks like a god… I can’t get enough of him, filling me up so perfectly, so completely. No one’s ever been so deep inside of me, yet I want him deeper, closer, I want to become one with him. I close my legs behind his back to bring him closer, and I take every one of his deep furious shoves like he’s giving me life itself. He might as well be. I felt dead before I met him, and now he’s broken through my suffocating shell and let me breathe. I’m getting high on inhaling his scent and screaming for more. He throws his head back as he fucks me, and the perfect arch of his body, covered in perspiration is going to be food for every wank I have from here on.

But then I feel him there… brushing against that spot that sends golden sparks along my nerves, and my body flies upward to meet his, and my incoherent string of obscenities and begging turns into one pleading wail. His hand is back on my cock to stop me from coming, because I would have, inevitably so. I couldn’t take that much ecstasy more than once. But this way, he gets to play with me longer.

“You like that?!” he’s hissing at me as he’s pummelling into that little piece of heaven that makes me thrash about and stutter his name, begging for more with no shame. “You like being fucked like the slut you are, you gorgeous blond devil? I’ll give it to you, time and time again, as long as you still have voice enough to beg for it… I love fucking you, Draco Malfoy…  fucking best I ever had… so tight… so needy… so fucking gorgeous when you fall apart… Would you like to fall apart, blondie? Are you ready to come, love?”

“ _Yespleaseyes_ … need to… please…”

I can’t even recognise my hoarse, pleading voice anymore, but I’m willing to beg some more if he fills me up and finally gives it to me.

“ _Then, goddammit… come!!!_ ” he shoves inside of me one last time, letting go off my leaking, swollen cock, and my desperate scream marks my surrender. My body seems to explode in ecstasy, and the raw force of my orgasm hits me like a freight train. My release is… terrific… tremendous… larger than fucking life. I honestly cannot account for the next few minutes or so, because I don’t think I’m conscious. It’s only when I come back, breathing at heart-attack pace, unable to move a muscle, and staring straight into my favourite shade of blue, that I can fully appreciate the heavenly bliss spreading through my body. Hugo Weasley has fucked me within an inch of my sanity. He’s fucked me unconscious… or something like that. I don’t have words for that. I have nothing left to give. I barely manage to turn my head – let it drop, really – to my side, so it’s buried against his chest and I can have some more of him throughout all my senses.

He’s heavy on top of me, but not unpleasant heavy, more like proprietary, protectively heavy, as if my body underneath him is for him only. And I’m perfectly fine with that, imagine that. I’ve been a control freak for most of my life, striving for nothing but perfection, but now I’m lying under the heavy body of one Hugo Weasley, messed up with all kinds of bodily fluids inside and out, and I’m nearly purring with delight. So much for control. Bloody thing is worthless.

“Welcome back, blondie,” he murmurs into my hair. “For a moment there I thought I’d lost you.”

“You evil Weasley, you… Just look at me… I’m barely… conscious! Is that a way… to treat an old man? Or is it because… I’m a Malfoy? Admit it!” I mumble, still trying to catch my breath. I’m perfectly happy to remain buried with my nose in his skin, and I allow myself to fall in love with his rumbling laughter all over again.

“Well, this _old_ man… is a wonderful fuck…” he kisses my neck, and I shudder with pleasure because… you know… dirty talk – my secret poison.

“And much more…” he adds, his fingers turning my head towards him and his mouth capturing mine in one of those kisses I shall dream about from now on, with my eyes open and closed. How come it only takes one kiss from him – _one_ , and he makes me feel as if I’m fourteen again, and not too old for this heady obsession?! Seriously, this boy is a walking aphrodisiac! His sweet lips have all kinds of… rejuvenating properties, and however off-the-charts brilliant our sex was, I like this post-coital cuddling even better. I never had that. I never allowed myself to have that.

But with having my senses awakened, unfortunately whatever was left of my fried brain wakes up as well, and I suddenly remember that we’re still in Ted’s studio. Oh, god, this is going to be beyond embarrassing…

“Where is Ted?” I mumble, once I make sure I’m once again safely tucked deeply into Hugo’s embrace.

“I don’t know,” Hugo says and chuckles. “I don’t care. I suspect he’s gone to have a wank. He looked like he needed one badly last time I saw him. You… are one hot sex toy, blondie... I think he got more than he bargained for.”

“Oh, Merlin… do shut up,” I murmur miserably. “I don’t know how you compelled me to abandon all my decency and do this, but I suspect you’ve got some personal magic going on, Hugo Weasley, that should be registered at the Ministry under _‘extremely dangerous, will challenge your morals'_ , ” I complain, and I love how he throws his head back and laughs, like my words have made his day somehow.

“You pure-blood prude, you!” he chuckles, leaning his head on my shoulder to look me in the eye, and smiles. “Should I remind you that I was against doing it here, lovely? I would have gladly provided the same quality service at any location of your choice,” he purrs into my ear and the mere ghost of warm, moist air sends vibrations of pleasure down my body. Oh, Merlin, help me – he’s incorrigible – and so am I. Still, I’m not quite ready to surrender all my guns.

“You, young man, have shamelessly used my temporary insanity caused by your superb physique and surely made me look ridiculous for all eternity, and for everyone to see!” I accuse him, trying to go for my most haughty – well, snotty, really – Malfoyian tone, but isn’t working, because he’s giggling like a three-year-old halfway through, and if you’ve never seen Hugo Weasley laugh like a child, his eyes sparkling, his warm lips stretching into a perfect smile, and his laughter resonating through the air, filling the room like a cloud of joy, you don’t know what happiness looks like. He is every bit precious, the most precious thing one could own – and suddenly I feel utterly and absolutely greedy to own him for a few more hours. Not that I could use them for anything… _indecent_ , god, no. He’s destroyed me, I swear it. But just… to own him. To have him to myself like I won’t ever be able to have him again.

“Come to my place?” I ask hastily before my sanity can catch up with me. “Just for a few more hours. I know you have to go back to your home… later, but just…”

“Yes, all right,” he absolves me from more shameless begging matter-of-factly, and his beautiful smile turns naughty.

“Ted – ”

“… will let us know if everything is to his liking once he’s ready,” he cuts through my efforts to be responsible with all the negligence of youth. “Don’t worry about him. There are more pressing matters at hand. You, for example, have to summon our clothes. I don’t feel like dressing – and trust me, you don’t want to send me home naked. You can’t even imagine…”

“Oh, yes I can,” I interrupt him quickly, because I don’t want to think about another set of fierce blue eyes and a face grimacing in hatred. I want to think of him – Hugo, only of him, because I’ll have to give him up all too soon. “I can very well imagine your parents’ wrath, trust me, I was young with them once.”

And I don’t mean it to – but once those words are out, I have a dreadful feeling like I’m breaking something, a precious illusion, and I’m running terribly out of time. I summon the clothes without another word, immerse myself deeply in his embrace and I think _“home”,_ right before I Disapparate us.

It’s not really surprising that we land in my bed given how tired I am. And he doesn’t seem to mind either.

“Brilliant,” is his only comment when he makes himself comfortable while still holding me close, and I can’t help but smile at his youthful enthusiasm. I won’t lie – I try to stay awake because I’m desperate to use my time with him to do all those things I’ll never get to do again –  to count his freckles, to trace the glorious inked dragon across his back, to comb the silken sea of his hair with my fingers – but in the end, I’m simply too tired. I don’t know when and how I succumb to my fatigue, but I suspect it is some time during a wonderful back rub this incredible Weasley ball of energy engages in.

The next thing I know, I wake up, still in my bed, but no longer sheltered in his wonderful warm embrace, and the first thought I have is that it has all been just a heartbreaking dream of things I could’ve had and never did. It only takes this one thought to have bitterness and a sense of loss overwhelm me like a depressing, sickening mist. I cover my face with the palms of my hands, and I refuse to meet the world that doesn’t have Hugo Weasley in it. I’m suddenly all too fragile for that. I need Hugo… I need him in any form I can have him, and as I lie there, suddenly chilled to the bone, I remember my picture as a last resort. It’s not the real thing, but it’s always been enough, and now it’s all I have left. I drag myself to the foot of the bed and reveal it – and the beauty of it stuns me, like it stuns and awes me every bloody time. I don’t know how long I spend staring at it, admiring every detail, and trying to control my breathing and the pain rising in my chest, when…

“So you had it all this time…”

He’s standing in the door leading to en-suite bathroom, once again clad only in a towel around his hips, and he’s painfully beautiful in his near-nakedness. I can smell the scent of his freshly-washed hair across the room, and my heart goes positively wild and attempts to jump out of my chest at the sight of him. But at the same time I register a look on his face – a mixture of confusion and surprise – and when I realise what he’s looking at, my blood seems to freeze solid. The picture… oh, no… Merlin… no… What must he think of me?!

“I knew someone got it because Teddy asked me if he could give it away. I didn’t want to, not at first anyway, but then he said he wasn’t going to sell it; that it was going to be a present to an unfortunate admirer who couldn’t secure one from the show. It seemed right after that, but I never knew… He wouldn’t say who, and I didn’t ask. It was you all this time…”

The feeling at the pit of my stomach is simply sickening, and I honestly cannot utter a word. My humiliation… my inability to be smug and arrogant about it because it’s him, Hugo Weasley, and I worshipped him before I knew it was him… my heart boiling with unspeakable emotion and full of begging not to leave me, not to think the worst of me – it’s all too much. It feels as if I’m drowning under the weight of my silence, of all the words I cannot say.

 _“It’s just a picture,”_  I try to tell myself, “ _just a picture”,_ however a glorious one. But it isn’t, not really; not for me. For me, it’s a proof of how very much I’ve failed at life. _All_ I have is this picture. All I don’t have, as well. I never reached out for someone real. I ended up obsessing over a beautiful photograph instead, that had none of the tender touch, wonderful scent, and warmth of the actual human being I could wrap around and feel happy with. It is proof how very pathetic I am, and what a coward still, after all these years. It’s not even about _who_ is in the picture. It’s about there being a picture in the first place, and all the things it was filling in for.

And that he, of all people, should know how very little I have without him, that he should think me pitiful and hardly any better than a clichéd old, rich pervert, getting off on pictures of beautiful boys, hurts worst of all. He must think me so worthless. Any time now, he’s going to start laughing at me, and that golden sound that I fell so much in love with, is going to be my executioner. My fragile, newborn heart will die a slow and painful death if he mocks me.

But there is no laughter, and suddenly I feel his eyes on me. He’s watching me from afar and, with a sinking heart, I’m waiting for him to at least turn around and leave, so I can collapse and cry out my misery. But he moves towards me, not away from me, and he’s slowly approaching me instead.

“Please, go…” is the only thing I manage to whisper, but it’s so quiet and broken that I barely make it out myself.

“You’re hurting,” he says quietly. “I never let anyone hurt in my life, not if I could help it. And you… I could never…”

He stops because he reaches me, and he lets his actions take the place of his words. He wraps his arms around me and holds me together, and when my arms close behind him, holding on for dear life, I fall apart without so much as a warning. The deep, painful sob that tears somewhere from the depths of my chest cannot be mine. Malfoys don’t have that much emotion if you add it all up. Only – this one Malfoy might have, all by himself. And after one sob, there is another, like a big link of heavy chain thudded onto the ground, and its weight pulled the entire rusty old thing behind it.

I can’t, for the love of God, say why I’m bawling my heart out. I couldn’t put it into words to save my life. It’s just that… so much has been lost – time, opportunities… and I myself got lost in keeping up meaningless appearances. And he’s here – warm, tall, wonderful. A 16-year-old-boy stands here, soothing me, whispering sweet words of comfort and taking my sorrow away because he can, because I’m willing to surrender it, and he’s brave enough to take it. Merlin, I’m going to miss him. How am I going to live knowing what I’m missing out on?

This beautiful boy – beautiful inside and out – came into my life like a storm, tore the grey, solemn shroud of my routine to bits and gave me a priceless gift I never got from anyone else: the feeling of my heart beating its way out of my chest in the most majestic of feelings – love. And with love comes the awareness of why I was doing this in the first place –  why I was so hell-bent on protecting and isolating  myself: because it hurts. I was always a coward when it came to pain, and right now, it hurts _like a motherfucker_ to know that I finally allowed myself to live, breathe and love – and I’m about to lose it all. I’d return the precious gift of love if I could right now, because it just hurts so bloody much, but that ship has sailed.

“Hey,” he says gently, lifting my head up from its shelter on his chest, and begins kissing the tears off my face gently. “Why the tears, love?”

I positively _melt_ when he calls me like that, have I said so? I’m so bloody undone I can’t even lie. But for his sake, I have to try… I have to. He deserves so much better; I’m a Malfoy, we’re all about false appearances… I have to give him this. So I close my eyes, because I can’t bloody do this staring into those heavenly eyes that strip me of all my pretences, and try my best.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper in a shaky voice, still heavy with tears. “I’m sorry for this… folly, for my weakness. You shouldn’t even be here. It’s your birthday in a few hours, possibly the most important one you’ll ever have. You should be there, celebrating with your family and your loved ones – ” I nearly choke at these words, because I find them impossibly hard to say, “… and not here, trying to console a middle-aged man who was a wreck long before you met him. I don’t need your pity… so you’re free to leave. And… don’t worry. I will be fine. I always am.”

Long, dead silence is my only answer. He’s still here. I can tell because his big, warm hands are still cupping my face – but he doesn’t say a word. So finally, I muster enough courage to open my eyes and look at him – and I instantly wish I hadn’t. I see my own face in the reflection of those beautiful sky-blue orbs – and, Merlin, do I look miserable! My little selfless speech couldn’t fool a three-year-old, to be sure, and looking into Hugo Weasley’s pools of blue brilliance simply makes me want to throw caution to the wind and beg him to have me. Thank fuck for my Malfoyian stiffness… thank fuck. It’s the only thing still stopping me from embarrassing myself completely. But then he smiles; he smiles in that slow, sweet, sexy way that makes my mouth dry, and I… I… oh, Morgana the Merciful, help me…

“Merlin, but you’re a terrible liar… Honestly, why do you bother?” he grins lazily. Say what?! I’m most _certainly_ not a bad liar! A survivor of Dark Lord’s embrace here – you think I told him I hated it?! I’m an _accomplished_ liar, I’ll have you know… just perhaps, not right now. And definitely not with him. Oh, damn this boy… he will leave me completely torn apart! Just look at him smile at me like an adorable kneazle about to have a meal – I can’t even hate him for it. I’m too busy trying to keep my hands to myself, and it’s a proper struggle!

But then his fingers slide off my face, and suddenly I’m left standing unbearably close to him, shivering from the loss of his warmth and desperate for his touch.

“Do you have any idea why I _really_ came to your home?” he asks unexpectedly.

What??

“You… what? Your father sent you, of course,” I’m hopelessly trying to make my brain work, but the damn thing won’t cooperate – I’m afraid it’s been fried beyond repair by the very mouth I’m trying very hard not to kiss. Why do crazy Ron Weasley’s motives matter anyway?! Only, there’s suddenly the mischievous smile of a true Slytherin on Hugo’s face, and I realise that perhaps I am not as well-informed as imagined. Oh, this is going to be good, I know it…

“My dad hasn’t been able to make me do _anything_ since I was 5, and neither has my mum for that matter,” he says matter-of-factly. “You see – this is how it really happened:

            _‘Bloody hell, Dad, you’re being paranoid here! The next thing you know you’re going to want a chaperone for Rose.’_

_‘Why, Hugo, that’s a splendid idea, if I ever heard one! You’re going there with Rose! Now, why didn’t I think of that?! That’s bloody brilliant!’_

_‘Bloody hell, Dad! I was only…”_

_‘End of discussion, Hugo! You’re going. Or you can deal with your sister’s wrath for the rest of her holiday!’_

So, you see – I got to go,” Hugo grins leisurely. “No better way to get what you want from my dad than by antagonising him.”

I confess myself kind of stunned stupid at the moment. It’s like my mind just can’t cope with the information that Hugo Weasley is here _by his own choice_ , and not by anyone’s decree. I suppose Ted was right about Hugo following no other agenda but his own, and I almost feel pity for the fate of Ronald’s parenting in that moment… Not to mention that I’m properly stunned by how clever Hugo really is. He’s Granger’s child, of course, and if I remember correctly, even Ronald _was_ praised for his excellent ability to think strategically – when he wasn’t too busy throwing one passionate, irrational fit after another, that is. I should really have known better than to expect any less of their son. But the thing I really cannot fathom is: why?! For heaven’s sake, why?! Why did this savagely smart boy wish to see my home – _me_ – in the first place?

He reads my unspoken question with no effort and answers it without me ever having to open my mouth.

“I wanted to meet you, obviously,” he says simply. “There was something about the way Scorp talked about you – and how vastly different that was from the way my dad remembers you. I found you intriguing. I wanted to see who you really were. I love human mysteries. I love solving them. But you see – it all went to the dogs the first moment I laid my eyes on you. I forgot my purpose. I needed to know no more. I knew who you were. Besides being the most poised, dashing man I’ve ever seen in my life, you were also my soulmate. And I know you felt it, too.”

He looks straight at me with those deep blue gems, and I don’t say a word. Not one. Because it’s bloody scary how right he is. Not to mention that his honesty – and his bravery – are mind-boggling.

“I know most people would find it laughable to hear a 16-year-old talk of soulmates,” he picks up quietly. “16-year-olds have no life experience, they haven’t been anywhere, haven’t seen anything, haven’t met anyone yet. They’ve got their whole life in front of them – how could a 16-year-old possibly know he met his soulmate for life, right? You see, I know all this – and more. And I don’t have good logical answers that would make my mum happy. But I have one that my dad would understand. And it’s a good one. It lies right here,” he takes my hand and puts it in the middle of his chest. I feel his heartbeat resonate through me and it’s steady, solid and incredibly hypnotic.

“I have the answer in my heart, and that’s the only answer I’ll ever need,” he says gently. “You belong with me. I knew it when I first set eyes on you, and you’ve done nothing since to persuade me otherwise. And I saw the way you first looked at me: your mask slipped instantly, and even your son noticed how dazed it left you. But I should have taken it slower, I should have given you more time. You see, I knew about you – I only had to listen to your son talk about you with all that protective Malfoyian love, and I knew there had to be a multitude of scars underneath that armour or yours. But I’m a Weasley, and I’m awfully temperamental. I’m afraid being patient is hard for me, so I slipped. I felt how much you wanted to reach out to me and how frightened it left you, so I’ve done it for you. For us. Because I knew you never would. You’ve been denying yourself all your life – and I happen to think life needs to be lived. Better to regret things you did than those you didn’t do, yeah?” he looks at me with serious eyes.

And I will confess, I’m rendered speechless. You see, I just realised that it’s no longer only his pretty face that makes me want to sink my fingers into his glossy hair and pull him closer: this boy is so much more. I never thought I’d think this about anyone, but he just might be too good for me. And now I _really_ want him! Malfoys always want the best!

“I’ve been pulled towards you from the first second I looked into your eyes,” he says with disarming honesty. “The first thing I saw was a gorgeous man holding himself back, desperate to hide his loneliness and his vulnerability behind his effort to appear flawless and perfectly untouchable. You tried so hard to keep the illusion of control – and yet I felt you respond to me the second our eyes met, as if you knew that I could see the real you underneath your polished façade. Not so cold and untouchable after all, I remember thinking, and the second you offered me your hand, you had me. There was a heart made of a priceless pearl inside that shell you’ve build around yourself, and I just wanted to crack the shell and show you that you could be having love instead.”

And _now_ I’m a mess. He never mentioned love before. Even when I slipped and blurted out I loved him, he never responded, as if he knew that if the circumstances had allowed me to deny it all later, I inevitably would have tried to do so. As sure as I stand here, I would have tried to tell him – and myself – that I was only playing my part for Ted’s sake. But this Slytherin Weasley – oh, boy, that sounds all kinds of wrong! – this beautiful, smart boy takes no chances. He speaks of love now, when there’s no one left to fool. And when I see how serious his pretty face is, my heart seems to be clawing its way out of my chest. Merlin… I’ve never felt so defenceless, so… terrified… so exhilarated. He’s looking straight at me with those bluest of blue eyes, and I feel like I’m pulled into them, and I have no other thought than to stay and keep this moment.

“I’m willing to love you, Draco Malfoy,” he says quietly, tenderly, and that one word pierces my heart all over again. “Just give me a chance. I know you look at me and you see a 16-year-old boy – but tomorrow you’ll look at me again and see a 17-year-old man. Will so much have changed by then? 16 or 17, 60 or 70, 160 or 170 –  it doesn’t matter, they’re just numbers. I’m willing to love you and I’m asking you to let me.”

My chest is heaving as if I’m suffocating. _JesusMerlin_ , how I want to… He stands there like a perfect embodiment of temptation, made just for me, and his hands are still wrapped around mine, held to his chest. I feel his steady heartbeat underneath the palm of my hand, and I know that if I don’t do this, a part of me will die forever. There will be no one to save me next time. There will be no next time. But to do this… something so drastic and insane… he’s 16, for fuck’s sake! His father might attempt to murder me should he find out – and I can’t say I’d blame him!

I feel his chest move in a deep exhale, and when I look at him next, he’s even more pale than usual and something in his lovely eyes has changed. There is unspoken sadness there, as if he exhaled hope as well.

“I know this is a lot to drop on you,” he says quietly.  “And I won’t make the same mistake again. This time I will give you what you need: time. Lots of time. As much time as you need. Come and find me if you ever decide you want this. I meant every word: you belong with me.”

His large warm hands cup my face and he kisses my forehead gently.

“Goodbye, Draco Malfoy. Next time you will see me, it will be by your choice – or not at all.”

He picks up the pile of his clothes as I stand there as if in a trance, completely numb, and as soon as the door clicks behind him, I collapse back on my solitary bed, still bearing the sweet, intoxicating scent of his presence, and I know one thing is as certain as the breath catches painfully in my chest: I just made the biggest mistake of my life.

~

It is Scorpius who finds me hours later. I hear him knock on the door, but I don’t respond. I don’t want him to see me like this: crushed to the point of not being able to leave the bed because I simply don’t see a point anymore. But a closed door was never able to stop my son before. Especially now. I think he can sense my despair through the bloody wood. He always knew when I was having a rotten day; he has a sixth sense about these things. After a muffled _Alohamora!_  I hear him enter, and a second later I feel his weight drop onto the bed next to me.

“Father,” he says gently. “Whatever is the matter?”

He waits patiently for my reply and just because it is him and I’ve always felt compelled to try my hardest for him, I force myself to respond.

“Nothing,” I tell him in a dull voice I barely recognise as my own. “There’s nothing. I’m… fine. I will be fine. Where is Rose?” I add, just to say something. Not that I care. I don’t care about anything much, to be honest.

“Some sort of family emergency. She had to leave early and I’m to join her later, when there’s a midnight party to celebrate – ”

He stops abruptly, as if he just realised something, and in the next second, he shoots at me:

“Where is Hugo?”

And just hearing that name sends a pang of pain through me as if I’ve been stabbed.

“Gone,” I tell him, and then before I can stop myself, it just flies out of me: “I’ve done something stupid.”

“What?” he demands to know in that masterful I-take-no-prisoners Malfoyian manner. But I can’t even say it. It’s so painful right now, the words don’t come.

He’s watching me struggle silently for a second and then he states: “You let him go.”

I’m not looking at him, but I hear how flat his voice became, how disappointed if not outright sad he sounds. God, I hate the feeling that I’ve failed him. But this time I’ve also failed myself.

“I let him go,” I confirm in a shaky voice.

“Why?”

“I… he wanted… he said he could love me… and I’m not sure… I’m not ready…”

“That _was_ stupid,” he says immediately, as if there is absolutely no doubt in his mind. “Beyond stupid even.”

“He’s only 16,” I blurt out, knowing that this is it: this is my one and only, and last, line of defence. “He’s still a child.”

And much to my surprise, my son snorts in annoyance.

“And he will be 17 in 5 hours – so no longer a child! He’s someone that looks at you as if the sun rises and sets with you, _Dad_! And you can’t tell left from right when he’s around, you can’t take your bloody eyes off him! That’s the only thing that matters! For heaven’s sake, Father, don’t you know how to be happy?!”

My muscles tense as if he punched me, because that’s just the gist of the problem, isn’t it? I _don’t_ know how to be happy. I’m too bloody scared, and after all my life has been about, I’m not so sure I deserve it. Happy is… unsafe. It makes you hope, and it makes you vulnerable to disappointments. I’m not sure I’m ready to take the risk.

“Look, Father,” Scorpius speaks, and this time around his voice is more gentle. “You need to stop worrying about things you can’t fix. You can’t fix Hugo’s age, for Merlin’s sake – and why would you want to?! Is there a rule that says you cannot love a person because of your age difference?! But just for the record: Hugo is an old soul. He grew up in a spotlight just like all the Potter-Weasley children have, and that means he had to do his growing up very fast. He doesn’t have the thinking processes of a child, he hasn’t got the attitudes of one, and he’s certainly been around the block a few times, possibly more times than you have. Don’t you think for a minute he doesn’t know what he’s doing! I bet you my inheritance he came here following his own agenda! He’s off-the-charts clever, he’s ridiculously good-looking – and he adores you. What are your chances of _ever_ getting something better than this?!”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?!” my frustrations explode, surprising even myself. “Why would someone who’s bloody perfection ever want to spend any length of time with me?! I’m too old to be some teenager’s fling, and Malfoys have one heart to give; _one_ , Scorpius! Am I to pin all my hopes and dreams on a boy half my age, a gorgeous, clever boy who could have anyone he liked, _someone who clearly doesn’t mind breaking hearts left and right_?! You tell me, Scorpius Malfoy, why would someone with a bright future want to bother with an aging man who has none? Perhaps he finds me intriguing now, but how can that ever end in anything but heartbreak for me? Why would I do that to myself?!”

After a moment of stunned silence, Scorpius replies quietly:

“Because he’s asking you to. Because it took an enormous amount of courage to come on to you like that and because that’s what you do when you love someone: you place your trust in them. There is no guarantee for _any_ relationship to work, Father. You should know that by now. But when you love someone, you trust them not to let you down. You don’t have to make plans until the day you kick the bucket – you take it day by day and make it work. It’s a rare, precious thing you found in Hugo, Father; not everyone is so lucky,” he looks me in the eye seriously.

“Are you going to throw it all away because you’d rather have nothing to lose? That’s insane, and – if you don’t mind me saying so – cowardly! And are you willing to make this decision for two people? Because I don’t see Hugo here, having any say in it,” he points out, and there’s an edge of anger to his words now. He’s right of course – right on every point and then some, but I’m silent because, frankly, have no idea how to fix this. It’s not like I can just barge through the door of the Weasley residence in the middle of preparations for a party and inform Hugo that I changed my mind.   

But then Scorpius leans closer to me, and there’s the dark, daring gleam of a true Malfoy in his eyes when he asks slyly:

“Are you willing to chance seeing him hold someone else’s hand, Father? Because if Rose and I stay together – and I have no doubt we will – you will inevitably see more of him. Are you prepared to see him holding someone else close, smiling at them, making them laugh, perhaps kissing them – all the time knowing that it should have been you, that it could have been you? Are you really, Father?”

Oh, but he knows me all too well! The very idea of seeing Hugo wrap his arms around someone else sends a shower of icy needles down my body, making my skin prickle with panic and suffocating jealousy. The idea of barging through the door of the Weasley residence just gained immense appeal!

I think this cunning child of mine can see all that and more on my face because he smiles a tiny, triumphant smile and politely hides it behind the hastily spoken words:

“Look, I’ll be going over to the Weasley’s in an hour. Rose asked me a number of times to bring you along and introduce you to the family properly – and don’t you give me that look, Dad! I know you know who they are, but Ronald Weasley – _like another pureblood I know!_ – is terribly traditional when it comes to these things, and you have _more_ than one reason _not_ to get on his bad side. What I meant to say was – should you be inclined to reconsider your… attachment, to a certain redhaired birthday boy, you will have opportunity to do so discreetly. And if not…” he stops, as if he doesn’t even wish to think in that direction.

“Are you willing to go with me, Father?” he finally wants to know.  

Well, do I have a choice? No, not really. Not, when he’s looking at me as if he’s ready to drag me there by my ears if I say no… and not when my heart is literally pumping in my chest with three times the normal speed at the mere thought that I will see Hugo again. Oh, Merlin… and I only have an hour!! How on Merlin’s lovely earth am I supposed to look dashing within an hour?! It is an impossible task! Yet, somehow, an hour later, here I am, dressed to the nines, as if I’m not going to the birthday party but to a wedding. I _doubt_ I looked so polished for my own wedding. I was certainly less nervous!

“Father…” Scorpius greets me, and judging by the incredulous look he throws me, immediately upgraded with a brilliant smile, he didn’t expect such dedication on my part.

“Merlin,” he murmurs. “They’re going to think you’re my long lost brother! I swear you look 20 years younger! Shall we? We’d best Side-Along. The wards Harry Potter has in place would most likely kill you if you show up unaccompanied.”

To be honest, Harry Potter and his paranoia are the least of my concerns. The same cannot be said about the parental wrath of one Ronald Weasley. I can only hope _someone_ will stop the temperamental idiot from killing me when he realises that not only does my son have some serious long-term plans with his daughter, but there’s _another_ Malfoy under his roof with his own secret agenda regarding his youngest and his… uhm, virtue.

But as soon as we land in the spacious lobby of an excessively decorated house – with my rotten luck, right in front of one fierce-eyed, livid-looking landlord – I realise that ship has already sailed. I can’t even blink before the slap lands on my face, and from the way it nearly turns my head backwards, I can tell it was heartfelt. Ouch! Merlin, Weasel, you bear… All right, I _might_ have earned that; perhaps I should have seen it coming. He crosses his massive arms against his chest, most likely to stop himself from smacking the living daylights out of me, and growls angrily:

“You bastard! How dare you break my son’s heart!”

What?? All right… that direction _is_ unexpected…

“ _You_ are going to come with me right now, and you’re going to fix it!”

He catches one of my arms in his steely grip and pulls me behind him, heading up the stairs. When I throw a panicked look at my son, Scorpius just shrugs with a sheepish expression on his face. It’s only right. He’s the last of Malfoys, he should be spared.

“I would have gone to that snake-pit of yours hours ago,” the redhead mumbles angrily, “but my stubborn mule of a son forbade it! He started hissing something about leaving school if I go near you. He never said anything about breaking your bloody nose if _you_ come near _me_ , ha! What the fuck were you thinking, Malfoy!?” he stops unexpectedly. “What made you think toying with my son was a good idea!?”

“I wasn’t toying with him!” I finally hiss angrily myself, and I pull my arm free of his grip. “I’m dead fucking serious! Why do you think I’m here?! I thought you’d be livid at me for coming on to your son!” the truth flies out of me uncensored, and this time my wand-hand is ready.

But he just stares at me incredulously, as if I just grew another head:

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says finally, and _smirks_ ! I didn’t even know the ginger berk could smirk! “If you came anywhere near Hugo, it’s because Hugo let you, and you better believe that! He’s been working around George since he was a wee toddler; you wouldn’t be able to put a finger on him without _exploding_ if he didn’t want you to! I know very well this… _thing_ you had with my son was his idea, who do you take me for?! I might be a concerned parent, but I’m not bloody blind, am I? Hugo is in charge, he always was,” he shrugs.

At this point, I’d love to tell you that I’m relieved because I clearly have nothing to worry about – Ron Weasley obviously doesn’t blame me for stealing his young son’s virtue – but my stinging cheek reminds me that the reality is, sadly, different. I have a gut feeling that the passionate redhead isn’t quite done with me yet. Oh, blast.

“Look, in case you’re the only one in wizarding England who haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the one to go telling anyone where to take their heart, am I?” he suddenly mumbles, and has the decency to look a bit embarrassed at this unexpected moment of retrospection. “I made a right mess of it when I was at it, didn’t I? I was right lucky that Harry sorted it out for us… So, I’m a bit cautious to go telling people who to fall for, all right? And if my son was stupid enough to pick you… well…”

He takes a good look at me, top to bottom, as if he didn’t really bother before, and then he mumbles something like _“All right, I suppose… if one likes polished blond bastards…”,_ but the next thing I know I’m nearly flying down the stairs backwards, because he stabs me with his finger in my chest and howls: “But you went on and hurt him, didn’t you?! What did you do that for?! Is my son not good enough for you, you stiff snot?! What’s wrong with you?! Can’t you…”

“Dad, what are you doing?!”

Hugo is standing on top of the stairs, pale and serious, and _ohmyfuckinggod_ so gorgeous, I nearly melt down the stairs. _What’s wrong with me_ , indeed… I can’t believe I was mental enough to try and leave him behind… I’m every bit as stupid as Weasley Senior takes me for! But Hugo is already flying down the stairs like a fury, and I’ll tell you something: a furious Hugo Weasley is a thing to behold.

“Oh, my fucking God, Dad! You didn’t try to hurt him, did you?! Why do you have to put your big Weasley nose into everything?! I told you to let him be, didn’t I? I swear, if you hurt one hair on his head, Dad…”

“Well, he had it coming, didn’t he?!” Ron Weasley howls, clearly unwilling to surrender the joy he took in punching me. But Hugo doesn’t seem to be paying him any more attention. He is already by my side, and when his warm fingers close around mine and that wonderful mind-melting scent of him hits my nostrils, I feel like bawling for real. I don’t think I can speak because right now it hits me with full force how close to losing this… losing him I came.

“Are you all right? What did he do to you?” he wants to know. In the next second, his fingers let go of mine and touch my flaming cheek. “Mother of Jesus, Dad!!”

“No… don’t… please… it’s all right... really, it _really_ is,” I capture his fingers because I don’t ever want to let go of him again. “It’s like he said – I had it coming. It’s… I’m… I’m here to tell you that I’d like… that I’d _very much_ like to take you up on your offer… if it still stands, that is, and that…”

“Are you for real?” He’s staring at me with those stunning blue eyes of his like he can’t believe my words, and the radiant smile that creeps onto that pretty face of his makes him look every bit like a child who just got the best Christmas gift ever. “Do you mean it?! Like, for real? You’d be willing to try? With me?”

“Yes… with you,” I’m already half laughing and perhaps a bit trying not to cry, but it doesn’t matter. It all comes out muffled because I’m already buried deep in his wonderful warm embrace, and in that place of love and redemption, I can be myself. “I’m willing to try with you, Hugo Weasley. I might have mentioned that I loved you, didn’t I?” I mumble, kind of stupidly happy, if you don’t mind me saying so, and I certainly hope I’m not held accountable for any kind of insensible words I might say in my befuddled state.

But next, he captures my mouth in a luxurious, endless kiss that just melts my every sane, conscious thought and – really, what words? While I’m busy enjoying being engaged in the most breathtaking kiss in the human history, I register a horrified muffled _“Oh, no… Merlin… must you really?!… Ufff… oh, yikes… Harry!! Hugo is kissing Malfoy on the stairs, don’t go there, you’ll have to scrub your brain for months! Oh, boy, this is going to take some getting used to…”_ – and I’m kind of happy I didn’t attempt to retaliate on Ron Weasley physically. This… sweet, delicious revenge is so much better.

“Wanna see my room?” Hugo wants to know – and excuse me, but who am I to say no to that low, sexy voice.

“Nnnnggghhh… oh, god… please… yesssss…” is all I manage. Yes, I’m that horny… and brain-fried. Oh, do shut up.

~

In the end, the exhibition is a spectacular success. That said – Ron Weasley might have told you differently, after he nearly had to be revived twice. The first time he nearly stopped breathing was when he saw the sensual photos featuring his son, perfectly recognisable, with an, ahem... _anonymous partner_ posing with him in undoubtedly erotic positions. I believe if it wasn’t for Potter squeezing his husband’s hands tight and whispering to him frantically, the redhead would have hit the floor there and then. And the next time he had to sit down and drink a glass of water was when he found out how much money Hugo was making. I think that information might have saved Ted’s life.

But all in all, the success of the showing is undisputable. Ted is being praised to high heaven for his talent once again, and his nose healed rather well, much to the dismay of Ron Weasley who promptly offered to break it again.

Hugo, no longer anonymous, is showered with modelling offers from all over the world. He won’t take any more _nude_ modelling work, though. I made sure of that. Unbreakable Vow and all. You see, Malfoys don’t share, and damn this particular Malfoy to Hell and back if he’s going to share another glimpse of his greatest treasure with the world. Too many people might get tempted. I know I did! So, I’m jealous and possessive. Deal with it. He likes it, though. He likes being mine; he likes waking up with me watching him like a hawk, trying to catch his waking moment when those mesmerising eyes open and glitter with a first morning smile; he likes persuading me in the evening that I’ve got no reason to be jealous because there’s no one but me.

Some adjustments had to be made, of course. I had to rent a place in the Hogsmeade while Hugo was still at school – I wasn’t going to give him up for a full year now that I’ve found him, was I?! And Hugo attempted to bribe James Potter with a ridiculous amount of money to lend him his Invisibility cloak – but in the end, it was his promise _never_ to go near Ted again without his clothes on that tipped the scale in his favour, and Potter Junior grudgingly parted with his beloved family legacy for a year.

It took some logistical manoeuvring, but we are currently having ridiculous amounts of sex and I’m obnoxiously happy. Scorpius called me “transformed”, and I kissed his cheek, shocking the living daylights out of him. Because that’s exactly how I feel: as if I was a new man who was given a new chance at life, love, and happiness. Call me corny. It’s perfectly fine. I’m a Malfoy, I’m used to envy. But now my bliss is coming to a short standstill because Hugo’s N.E.W.T.s are around the corner, and his annoying mother threatened to castrate me if his results suffer because of too many distractions. So, we’re having our last rendezvous until after the exams, and that means I won’t see him for two months. _Two.Bloody.Months!!_ Imagine that! How I’m going to survive it is beyond me.

But today belongs to us. You see, it’s our first anniversary. And I… oh, blast, I got him a ring, all right? Of course I’m a nervous wreck – internally, mind you, those cufflinks were just waiting to fall apart! – but I’m going through with it. I need to know if this is as good for him as it is for me. I need him to say “yes” and – in a while, when he’s ready – “I do”. I need him to… I need him. Just that.

And here he comes. How is it that after seeing him nearly every day this past year, he can still take my breath away? It’s just… he’s poetry in motion, you know? He literally turns the heads of women and men alike when he walks, with that long fiery hair flowing behind him and those captivating blue eyes lit up in a smile. I can barely believe he’s mine.

“Hello, love,” he greets me and leans down to kiss me. “Missed me?”

And because this is Hugo, and we’re in a public place for once, I make sure everyone has a _very clear_ notion that this man is _mine_. When we finally manage to unglue our lips, there are catcalls, and we’re both panting as if we ran a marathon.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he murmurs in a sultry way that makes my skin prickle with arousal. “Would you perhaps consider continuing this lovely… practice in private?”

“Would I ever…” I mumble into his mouth, more than eager to continue this _glorious_ practice in private! I feel his arms wrap around my waist, and in the next moment, the pull of Side-Along Apparition catapults us through nothingness. I open my eyes, ready to push him into the nearest wall, but my mouth just falls open and stays that way. We are standing in most spacious apartment I’ve ever seen, with floor-length windows bathing the elegant place in beautiful light – and I have no idea where we are. There are thick cream-coloured carpets on the dark hardwood floors and there’s fire in the cobblestone fireplace, but apart from the majestic four-poster bed one-quarter the size of a Quidditch pitch, the place seems unfurnished.

And then I see the pictures. At least a dozen large, breathtaking photographs of Hugo and I making love adorn the walls, not one of them obscene or anything short of classy. They’re all originals, before my face was in any way concealed or manipulated, and these, here, certainly weren’t part of the showing. I’ve never seen these before and I… oh, god, I can’t stop staring. They’re magnificent… and spell-binding. And we… we’re magic together.

“Happy anniversary, love,” my redheaded wonder whispers as he leans into me from behind, closing his arms around my chest and kissing the top of my head. “You like?”

“Of course I… oh, my… What _is_ this place?” I ask, still awe-struck with the wonderful display that is going to make me wander around for hours, admiring every detail.

“I bought it for us, with the money I made,” he says simply. “I didn’t think I was going to have enough, but I think Teddy must be selling those photos for a fortune, because I managed in the end. I’ve even got some change left. I thought that perhaps now we could get a proper place, and after my N.E.W.T.s perhaps we could… you know… move in… if you like… together...”

He sounds adorably nervous, hopeful, even a little bit shy, and, Merlin, that’s one cocktail I find irresistible. That’s exactly how one should sound when they’re asking you to share your life with them. I’m moved beyond words. I turn around in his embrace, closing my arms behind his neck, and I just launch myself at his wonderful, sweet lips. I make sure I kiss him with everything I’ve got.

“Thank you,” is all I manage. “I love it. I love you. I’d love to move in with you.”

“I was hoping you would…” he tells me a couple of minutes of breathless kissing later. “I didn’t want to furnish it, you know –  in case you didn’t like it. I was hoping those photos would do the trick, though… you seemed quite partial to the one you already own…”

“They’re gorgeous,” I interrupt him, not willing to give him a chance to doubt himself for a single moment. I love his gesture all too much. “They’re spectacular. They’re us. It doesn’t get better than that. God, Hugo…” I moan into his mouth shamelessly because I haven’t seen him in two days, and I bloody missed him, all right?! “What am I going to do without you? Two months is forever!”

“Well, you better use them well to make this place look like home, precious… Because I don’t have any plans to get out of here any time soon once I get my hands on you again…”

“ _JesusMerlin_ , Hugh… Promise?” I pant while his mouth looks for the pulse in my neck, and then I just mewl helplessly. “Oh, fuck… You gorgeous ginger bastard… Must you spoil me rotten with your… exceptional… talents?”

“Mr. Malfoy, you flatter me,” he murmurs into my ear sensually before he bites my earlobe gently, and his soft tongue begins to drive me seven kinds of mental. “Want to know a secret?” he whispers in my ear once he has me shaking with desire. “Finding out that you had a picture of me in your bedroom turned me on _like a motherfucker_ . So I had one made of you… one of you coming… and it’s the sexiest, dirtiest thing ever… You, Mr. Malfoy, are the most wanton, debauched looking little _slut_ , when you’re full of my cock… And _that one_ is going to my dorm…”

“Hugo!” I gasp, too shocked and thrilled to object. For some reason, the idea of him having a picture of me with him turns me on beyond belief.

“I’m going to have to be extra careful with it, I know I will,” he’s whispering with his mouth around one of my wet, hard nipples, and when he sucks, hard, I feel as if I’m going to come from it if he keeps up. “But once the lights are out, I’m going to close the curtains around my bed… and I’m going to reveal it… and I’m going to do all kinds of dirty, wrong things looking at it…”

“ _Jesusfuck_ , Hugh... please…” I’m already whimpering for mercy because he went on his knees in front of me, and he’s doing that thing with his tongue again… pulling the laces on my pants… and that’s my ultimate poison. Seeing that wonderful, lush mouth reaching for my cock, that fiery head bobbing between my legs… oh… oh, fuck… Merlin, boy, hurry up, or I might just think myself into orgasming!

“Come on, love… let me have some fun. You know how I like to see you beg… Once I’m in my dorm again, I’m going to imagine I’m making you look like this… the way you look now… absolutely fucking desperate… and begging for it… and I’m going to reach for my cock… like now… and I’m going to wank… hard… and furious…the way it’s making me stutter your name and curse… the way you like to watch me… until I’m shaking and emptying… and I’m all messed up and still horny… because just thinking of you made me so…”

“Hugh!!” I’m finally allowed to sink into that heavenly wet cavern, and the second my throbbing, begging shaft sinks in, I know I’m not going to last. His tongue swirls around the naked, leaking head of my cock in a way that drives me absolutely spare… again and again… perhaps half a dozen times… and I’m already blathering his name and my surrender. God… why can’t I ever last any longer the first time?! This is bloody embarrassing!

“Bed?” he wants to know, still panting, and I realise that the best part is yet to come. Bed it is, oh, yes, most certainly so. Seeing him above me, sinking into me, arching that taut, beautiful body and becoming more and more undone with every thrust and shove… I can never get tired of that sight. I’m rarely witnessing the final moments of his ecstasy, though, because, you see, my Hugo fucks me senseless and I love it. And today I’m going to make it special. My way.

I make sure I have the ring in my hand when we’re naked on the bed and all over each other. Oh, god, the black silken sheets, my shameless fetish… He’s totally right, we should never leave this bedroom again! I wait until he’s above me, I barely hold back when he’s making me ready, and I’m half ecstatic already when he finally sinks into me. Oh, Merlin, I know… I just _know_ that I can’t last long, he’s way too breathtaking, dominant, and beautifully exposed; he’s making my cock burst and my heart ache.

So when I realise I have his eyes on me, that those beloved blue orbs are focused on my face as he fills me, slowly, completely, like no one else ever could, I know that any time now, he’s going to start moving like a storm, and I would have missed my opportunity. So with a trembling hand, I drop the ring in the middle of my chest, just above my heart, and look him straight into his awestruck face. I ask him quietly, in a shaky voice, desperately trying not to sound too pleading: “Would you – ?”

“Yes!!” he cuts me short, and the radiant smile that just lights up his face sweeps away all my fears. “Yes, yes, oh, god, love… yes!!”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a heavenly, lustrous light in his anyone’s eyes. It’s almost otherworldly, like happiness got a new name and it’s called Hugo Weasley. He looks painfully beautiful and – oh, sweet, smitten Merlin – good enough to eat. And then he leans down onto my chest, puts those lush, warm lips around the ring and sucks gently. Just because he’s Hugo Weasley, my insane wonderful lover, and he won’t do anything the orthodox way. I’m watching, entirely transfixed by those captivating lips, how the ring disappears into his mouth and a second later appears around his finger.

“There,” he says softly, and looks at me in a way that it makes me shiver. As he leans down to capture my lips, he whispers into our kiss with fire and devotion: “I’m yours now. For good.”

And I am his.

And nothing else matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Please show your appreciation for the author here, or on [LIVEJOURNAL](http://hp-crossgenfest.livejournal.com/35520.html)! ♥

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hugo Weasley and his dragon tattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906291) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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